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A CLOVERDALE 


SKELETON 


by y 

c! g lauron hooper 



NEW YORK 

JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER 

1889 


Copyright, 1889, 
II v 


C. LAUliON HOOPER. 


C; O N T E N T S 


CHAPTER. PAGE. 

I. Cloverdale, ..... 5 

II. An Evening with The Loafers, - - - 8 

III. Or’gon Rosebery, .... 23 

IV. At Roseberry’s Horae, - - - - 33 

V. Middleton as a Lover and Suapp as a Prophet, 45 

VI. The Skeleton in Action, ... 51 

VII. Rocky Branch Hollow, - - - - 64 

VIII. Watson’s Mill, ..... 72 

IX. Wib as a Flatterer and Middleton as a Poet, - 84 

X. Rape of the Skeleton, .... 95 

XI. Skeete’s Hill, ..... 199 

XII. Preparations, ----- 123 

XIII. Increased Cares, ..... 132 

XIV. Ready, ...... 137 

XV. “ The Play’s the Thing - - - 139 

XVI. The Unforeseen, .... 152 

XVII. The Valley of Dry Bones, .... 160 

XVIII. Odds and Ends, 168 


































A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


CHAPTER I. 

CLOVERDALE. 

Cloverdale was a dead town — at least that was 
the verdict of the discontents who dreamed of its com- 
mercial prosperity. The cause lay, perhaps, in the 
christening ; for how could a town with such a rural 
name as Cloverdale be expected to become a city? 
However, its situation had more to do with its per- 
sistent refusal to grow than did its rustic name. A 
few miles to the north was a bustling, thriving city, 
to which the Cloverdale people were accustomed to 
go whenever they had shopping to do. Nothing was 
more pleasant than to board a fast train in the early 
morning, to spend a day in the whirl and roar of the 
city, and to return to Cloverdale in the quiet of the 
evening. This was convenient for the people, but 
ruinous to the business men, and threatened stagna- 
tion to the town. It was even asserted that, if it 
were not for the Medical College down at the end of 
the “ avenue,” Cloverdale would become deserted 
and be a collection of ruins — a home for bats and 
owls — right in the midst of this progressive Ameri- 
can nation. 

Although this assertion was exaggerated, there was 


6 


A CLOY ERD ALE SKELETON. 


some truth in it ; for much of the money in circula- 
tion in the town was brought there, in one way and 
another, by the students and faculty of the college. 
Renting rooms to the prospective physicians and fur- 
nishing then/ with board were the avocations of many 
of Cloverdale’s citizens, and the necessity of the col- 
lege was duly felt. Two or three stone quarries, 
more or less deserted, and an equal number of fac- 
tories, in which wood taken from the surrounding 
forests was made into wagon-spokes and furniture, 
helped to keep some business life in the place. 

Still, the people were dissatisfied. The property- 
owners wanted the town to grow in order that their 
lots might increase in value. A railroad running east 
and west would have benefited Cloverdale greatly ; 
butThe chances were against one being built when 
the city, a commercial centre, was so near on the 
north. In vain did the Cloverdale citizens devise 
plans to make their town prosper. It was doomed to 
be a rural community forever. 

Yet, for the people who liked quiet and seclusion, 
and who were fond of the beauties of nature, Clover- 
dale was a pleasant place for a residence, and the 
hills and valleys about were a constant source of 
pleasure. The streets of the town were solidly, 
though somewhat roughly paved, and in many parts 
were beautifully shaded. The stone-walls and iron 
fences before the lawns of many residences gave an 
air of permanence to what there was of the place ; 
while the campus of the “ Med,” which fronted the 
lower end of College Avenue, the large school build- 
ing, with its lawn beautified by shrubbery and white 


CLOVERDALE. 7 

birches, together with two or three pretty churches, 
would have been ornaments to any town. 

The public square was the centre of the few busi- 
ness interests of Cloverdale. There wer^four blocks 
of business buildings facing the court-house, with its 
imposing tower, in which was a clock of questionable 
veracity. A chain fence around the court-house was 
used by the country people to tie their horses to when 
they came on Saturdays to do their trading. Then, 
indeed, the town had a brisker air and its streets were 
infused with life, but only to subside into that semi- 
dormant state on the succeeding Sabbath. 

Repose was Cloverdale’s great charm, and it was 
never more charming than on a spring or summer 
evening, when the air of undisturbed serenity was 
soothing to the weary and in complete harmony with 
the indolent. It was a pleasure to see the loungers 
on the streets ; the occasional student promenading 
on the avenue with his lady-love, and the mothers, 
with the babies, sitting on the porches or stone steps 
in the gateways, chatting with their neighbors across 
the way. At such a time, when evening blended into 
night, the promenaders would become fewer and the 
mothers less talkative ; while the babies in their arms, 
sung into drowsiness by the crickets and the katy- 
dids, would float away into the land of dreams. 


8 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


CHAPTER II. 

AN EVENING WITH THE LOAFERS. 

On an evening in the early spring when fires were 
still comfortable after dark, a young druggist of 
Cloverdale stood in the doorway of his store, whis- 
tling softly to himself. With one hand he held to the 
rope of the awning which was folded up over the 
door; the other reposed languidly in his pocket. He 
was watching a child at the town pump just at the 
edge of the sidewalk. The pump was a primitive 
structure, tall, made of wood, and having a long 
curved iron handle with a knob at the end. On an 
iron hook on the spout hung a tin pail which the 
child was trying to fill. He was a little fellow — 
scarcely tall enough to reach half-way up the handle ; 
but he bravely pushed it as far as he could, then 
sprang up with all his might and let his weight bring 
it down. An elderly man, coming across the street 
at that moment, saw the boy going up and down like 
a jumping-jack, and, stepping up to the pump said in 
a gruff, good-natured voice, 

“ Git out of the way, bub ; let me pump it fer 
you.” 

The pail was soon filled and the boy ran away with 
it, splashing the water over its sides. 

The elderly gentleman walked up to the store-door 
and accosted the proprietor. 


AN EVENING WITH THE LOAFERS. 9 

“ Todd, when you see a little feller like that workin’ 
away fer dear life, why don’t you give him a lift ? ” 

Mr. Todd laughed. “ Pshaw ! Mr. Roseberry,” 
he said, “ I’ve got something else to do.” 

“ So have I got something else to do, but it don’t 
take long to do a little thing like that.” 

“ That is owing to circumstances,” returned Todd. 
“You pass here once or twice a day; I am here all 
the time, and if I undertook to pump water for all 
the kids that come here, I wouldn’t do anything else. 
See?” 

“Well, now,” said Mr. Roseberry, “mebbe that’s 
so ; but here you was standin’ with your hand in your 
pocket, doin’ nothin’ ; and you might as well have 
given the little feller a lift. Now I alius make it a 
point to help a feller-man out of a difficulty. Good 
plan ! You’re a young man just startin’ in life and I 
want to give you this piece of advice ; help a feller- 
man out of a tight place every time you get a chance. 
In other words work the pump handle fer the small 
boy.” 

Mr. Roseberry said this with a mock-serious ex- 
pression on his round, smoothly-shaven face. He 
talked lightly, with many little gestures and much 
show of feigning, but he meant what he said. In 
truth, Mr. Roseberry himself was ever ready to lend 
a helping hand. 

“O yes, Mr. Roseberry,” said Todd, in a some- 
what sarcastic tone ; “ I will hire out as Grand Manip- 
ulator of the Town Pump ; and will appoint you my 
deputy. Here is a job for you already.” 

At that moment there was heard a peculiar sound 


10 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

farther up street. It was a long-drawn-out repetition 
of the monosyllable kow , in an ascending scale, audit 
was a good imitation of a turkey’s call. 

“ Kow , kow , kow , kow, kow } kow, kow, kow” came the 
cry ; and then for variation it was, “ peep, peep, peep, 
peep, peep, peep, peep” 

“ What ’s that mean ?” asked Roseberry. 

“ Haven’t you heard?” Todd answered. “Scip 
Snapp stole a turkey down here at the grocery the 
other day, but it raised a big rumpus about it, and 
he got caught. The boys have been teasing liim 
about it ever since. Here he comes.” 

The speaker stepped out to the corner and leaned 
against a post which supported a big gilded mortar 
and pestle and a sign on which was printed, “ Noah 
Todd, Druggist.” He grinned, and whistled the 
turkey call. 

Down the middle of the street came a negro with 
a wooden bucket in each hand. He was a man of 
medium size and had considerable beard for an 
African. He had a hunted, guilty expression on his 
black face, but was trying hard to appear uncon- 
cerned. This was very difficult to do ; for all around 
the square the turkey call had been heard and under- 
stood, and now 1 jame from scores of throats and 
puckered lips. Poor darkey ! He could not appear 
unconscious of such universal accusations. So he 
came along to the pump, muttering curses on all 
Cloverdale. 

“Hello, Scip,” said Todd, when the negro had hung 
one of his buckets on the spout and had set the other 


AN EVENING WITH THE LOAFERS. 11 

on the ground, “ what is all this racket the boys are 
giving you ? ” 

“ Shet yo’ mouf,” said the negro pumping away 
very sullenly. 

“ Why, see here, Scip, this will never do at all. I 
am an old friend of yours and I don’t like to have 
you talk to me in this way. I merely asked you 
what this racket was about. Can’t you answer a 
civil question ? ” 

Todd said this in a very solemn, injured tone of 
voice. Scip was silent. 

“ They say you stole a turkey, don’t they ? ” 
continued the druggist. 

“ Didn’t I tell you ter shet up ? ” said Scip, 
straightening up and looking his questioner square in 
the face. “ An’ I don’ want ter speak t’ yer no mo’ 
nudder.” 

“ Now, see here, Scip,” continued the tormentor, 
“ didn’t you ever hear that this is a free country, 
where a man can talk as much as he pleases ? ” 

The darkey was silent. 

“ Scip,” continued Todd after a pause, “ was that 
turkey you stole a hen or a gobbler ? ” 

This was too much. Scip seized the bucket of 
water, and with no warning whatever dashed it at 
Todd. A wild yell of merriment arose from the 
opposite corner where a dozen men and boys had 
collected. They came running over as Todd, having 
escaped a wetting by a quick spring, stood smiling 
in the door. They crowded around the negro, cry- 
ing, “ Go for him, Scip ! Douse him again ! Kow, 
kow, kow , kow , kow , kow , kow ; j veep, peep , peep , peep, 


12 


A CLOVEBDALE skeleton. 

peep, peep, peep.” They pulled his coat tails and 
jammed his hat down over his eyes until he was boil- 
ing over with rage. He picked up a brick from the 
gutter, and immediately the crowd scattered, laugh- 
ing. He pursued, and with an angry oath threw the 
missile. “ Take dat, you damn fools,” he said. 

No one was injured in the least. 

While Scip was cursing the boys who stopped a 
few feet away and renewed the turkey calls, Todd 
took the buckets and hid them in the store. 

Turning again to the pump Scip saw what had 
been done, and turned savagely to Todd. 

« Whar’s dem buckets done gone to ? ” 

“ Where have those buckets gone ? ” Todd repeated 
sweetly. 

“ Yes, sar ; whar’s dem buckets done gone? ” 

“ Mr. Snapp,” said Todd, learnedly, “ if you were 
well acquainted with the nature of buckets, you 
would know that they are not gifted with the power 
of locomotion. A careful study of bucket-anatomy 
will show that buckets have no legs. Therefore the 
two you are inquiring for could not have transported 
themselves ’ ’ 

“ Shet up yo’ fool nonsense. What I wants ter 
know is, whar is dem buckets ? An if ” 

“ Kow , how, kow, kow, kow , kow, kow ; peep, peep, 
peep, peep, peep.” 

Thus was the unhappy negro interrupted. He 
seemed discouraged. Removing his hat and wiping 
his damp forehead, he shuffled into the store. He 
looked here and there in a dejected way for his lost 
property, but soon gave it up, and went to the rear 


AN EVENING WITH THE LOAFERS. 13 

of the room where he sat down and tilted his chair 
against the wall to sulk. 

“ Can’t you fellers let that coon alone ? ” growled 
Roseberry good-naturedly, as some of the boys fol- 
lowed Scip. He was about half inclined to take the 
negro’s part, so he went back too and took a chair by 
the stove. 

“ These boys are purty tough, ain’t they, Scip ? ” 
said Mr. Roseberry. 

“ Dey’s damn imperdent cusses,” replied Scip. 
“ Dey’d better go home an’ larn some raisin’ ; fer dey 
never did larn none.” 

The boys tittered. 

“ Listen to dem fools ! G’way home, dar ! Don’t 
come ’roun’ hyar wid yo’ bad manners.” And Scip 
continued muttering to himself, “ Some ob dese po’ 
white trash neber had no raisin’, nohow.” 

The boys roared aloud. 

“ Heah, Scipio Africanus,” said one of the number, 
imitating the negro’s voice and puffing out his lips, 
“ you take dat tu’key out frum undah yo’ coat ; you 
smuver ’im.” 

This was highly amusing to all but Scipio himself 
and Roseberry, who did not enter into the fun with 
much spirit. 

“ Who is dat smart Elick, Misser Roseberry ? ” 
Scip asked, pointing to the youth who had just 
spoken. 

Mr. Roseberry turned around in his chair and 
looked at the young man. He was tall and slender, 
and notwithstanding Scipio’s assertion, had an air of 
refinement about him. Roseberry surveyed him 


14 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


from head to foot, and then said to Snapp curtly : 

“ Don’t know ; never seen him before.” 

Todd immediately introduced the young man to 
Mr. Roseberry as Mr. Ransom Middleton. 

“ Ah ! Mr. Roseberry,” said Mr. Middleton, ex- 
tending his hand and grasping that of the elder gen- 
tleman, “ I am delighted to meet you ; very happy 
indeed to make your acquaintance ; indeed I ” 

“ Yes, I reckon you’re durned near tickled to 
death,” growled Roseberry. He was somewhat on 
the defensive on Snapp’s account, and did not feel 
inclined to return the young man’s gushing greeting. 
“ Where you from ? ” he added, roughly. 

“ Baltimoah.” 

“ Baltimoah ! ” 

Mr. Middleton colored slightly and nodded. 

“ Baltimore ! Baltimore ! Lemme see ! There 
was a Middleton from Baltimore come to college 
here good many years ago. Y ou any kin to him ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; he was my fathah.” 

“ He was, hey ? I knowed him slightly. He was 
a good one. That was just before I went to Or’gon. 
Your father’s a doctor, I s’pose?” 

“ Yes, sah ; he is a practicing physician in Balti- 
moah.” 

Roseberry looked through the open store door at 
the dying coals a moment, slowly shook his head, 
and muttered to himself, “Yes, Middleton was a 
stunner. I knowed him purty well.” Then turn- 
ing suddenly to the young man he said : 

“ What you here fer ? ” 

“ Oh, I came moah to get out of the city a while 


AN EVENING WITH THE LOAFERS. 15 

than anything else. Then I am taking a course in 
chemistry at the Medical College.” 

“ Goin’ to be a doctor ? ” 

“ Mighty po’ doctor dat kid ’ll make,” said Snap 
aloud. “ Talks like a nigger.” 

“ Yes, sah ; that is my intention,” said Mr. Mid- 
dleton, not noticing the slight interruption. He had 
a somewhat Southern accent, but not distinct or 
broad. 

“ Um, h — m ! ” mumbled Roseberry meditatively, 
“goin’ to be a doctor. Well, this college turns out 
a big batch of ’em every year. It is a purty good 
college, but they can’t teach you everything in it.” 

“What is it they can’t teach, Mr. Roseberry?” 
Middleton asked. 

“ Why, plain common sense,” said Roseberry, 
bringing his fist down forcibly on his knee. “ If you 
ain’t got ‘ common horse sense,’ all the teachin’ they 
could give you in ten years wouldn’t make a third- 
rate corn-doctor of you.” 

“ Yes ; I understand,” said Middleton. 

“ Now let me tell you somethin’. I’ve done a little 
doctorin’ myself in my day, and I never went much 
on science neither. Science is all right in its way, 
but common sense is a blamed sight better, and I 
used right smart of it if I do say it myself. Now 
fer instance — mebbe you don’t know it, but I spent 
a good many years in Or’gon when I was younger ’n 
I am now. It’s a wonderful country. Don’t s’pose 
there’s its equal anywheres. Well, as I was sayin’, 
one night ’bout twelve er one o’clock, we heard a 
terrible racket at the stockade gate — had to have a 


16 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

stockade as pertection ag’in the Injins. We hitched 
onto our shootin’ irons mighty quick — didn’t know 
whether it was Injins or what. We went out and 
some one was hollerin’ out in English, ‘ Lemme in ; 
lemme in quick!’ makin’ right smart of noise. 
Thinkin’ Injins was after ’im we let ’im in, and he 
begun to holler somethin’ at me ’bout somebody 
swallerin’ a spider — spiders grows mighty big in 
Or’gon. I thought the man was crazy, the way he 
kep’ a-yellin’ at me, and so I ast him who swallered 
a spider, and he said, ‘ Manda Ferguson, down in 
Stevenson’s Gulch,’ all out of breath, you know. 
‘Well,’ says I, ‘what you goin’ to do about it?’ 
With that he got so all-fired mad he couldn’t get his 
breath fer four minutes. Then he said as loud as he 
could yell, ‘ Manda Ferguson’s swallered a spider 
and her dad wants you to come and git it out.’ 

‘ Why the devil didn’t you say so?’ says I. 

“ So I went and got my horse Trueblue and put 
the saddle on him, and fixed the tether on the horn, 
the man hurryin’ me all the time, sayin’ the gal was 
sufferin’ and liable to go off any minute. ‘ Never 
you mind’, says I, ‘ we’ll git there in plenty time 
enough.’ So I got on my horse Trueblue — and let 
me tell you right here that Trueblue was a horse as 
was a horse. He could run a mile while any other 
horse was crossin’ the street out here. Why onct 
he jumped over a gorge fifty-seven feet wide with me 
— Injins after us. Well, so I got on Trueblue and 
started. It was about fourteen miles down to Ste- 
venson’s Gulch. The other feller’s horse was tired, 
so I hitched my tether to him and let him string 


AN EVENING WITH TIIE LOAFERS. 17 

along in the air behind, like the tail of a kite. We 
got there in about five minutes, and I hitched True- 
blue to a tree and went into the cabin. I looked at 
the gal and she was a -sufferin’ a heap, I tell you. I 
felt of her pulse and ast her to lemme see her tongue, 
just like I was a perfessional ; and I took my time to 
it, too. The folks was nervous and wanted me to 
hurry, but they didn’t say so, fer they knowed I had 
a reputation in that neck o’ woods, and bein’ consid- 
erable independent, wouldn’t stand no slack. That’s 
a point in your perfession, young man; so don’t fer- 
git it. Then I ast ’em kind o’ keerless like if they 
had a cellar, and they said they had, and I went 
down in it and — you know how them big blue-bottle 
flies hang around a cool cellar in the summer time ? 
— well I caught one of them blue bottle flies and 
held him by the legs, and of course he done consid- 
erable buzzin’ with his wings, as was perfectly nat- 
ural. I went up-stairs into the cabin ag’in, propped 
the gal up in her bed, and made her open her 
mouth, and I held the fly in it. The fly went 
buz — z — z, buz — z — z, mighty energetic. Fust thing 
I knowed, here come that spider peepin’ up out of 
the gal’s throat. He looked around kind o’ sus- 
picious at fust; then he made a lunge at the fly and 
I had him.” 

Roseberry paused, looked about him with a 
triumphant air and remarked with a jerk : 

“ Gal well in two hours.” 

Mr. Ransom Middleton buried his face in his 
handkerchief and seemed to be stifling some power- 
ful emotion. Todd seemed perfectly solemn. He 
2 


18 


CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


had heard that story before. On the coal box sat a 
boy, the only one of the crowd left, the rest having 
been called away by a dog-fight in the street. He 
smiled very perceptibly and received a frown from 
the narrator. As for Scipio Snapp, he could only 
look in undisguised admiration at the possessor of so 
much sagacity. 

“Now, young man,” Mr. Roseberry resumed, “if 
they’d a ben a smart ’Frisco doctor there, or if you 
or some of your smart perfessors had been there, like 
as not you’d a cut that gal open to git that spider, 
and she’d a died ; whereas as it was, she got well. 
Common sense, young man, common sense’s what 
wins.” 

Mr. Roseberry crossed his legs, clasped his hands 
over his knees and gazed thoughtfully into the fire. 
“ Lemme see ! ” he said. “ I b’lieve I’ve got that 
varmint around somewheres yit — in a bottle. Its 
got steel claws and regular bull’s-eye lanterns fer 
peepers. You never see no sich spiders in this 
country.” 

“ Oregon must be a wonderful country,” Middleton 
observed. 

“ Yes, yes ; Org’on’s a wonderful land.” 

“ But then I should dislike to live in a new country 
like that. There are so few home comforts and so 
many disadvantages in living so far from civiliza 
tion.” 

“ Yes, that’s so,” replied Roseberry ; “ and we had 
hard times of course, ’specially ’cause we didn’t have 
no wimmen folks along The house-work took care 
of itself mostly. But we didn’t have so much trouble 


AN EVENING WIT II THE LOAFERS. 


19 


cookin’ cause of the bilin’ spring out back of our 
house. We could cook most anything there. Then 
some things we didn’t have much trouble to git. 
There’s butter fer instance. As long as I was in 
Or’gon we never churned once, and yit we had fine 
butter all the time. Queerest thing, — how we got 
it. Near our cabin there was a stream that came 
roarin’ down from the mountains. It was a beauty, 
and in one place it tumbled over a prec’pice into a 
pool. That was a mighty purty sight, too ; I’ll never 
fergit it. Sometimes big herds of buffaloes ’d come 
up from the plains to drink. They’d be so thirsty that 
they’d rush in the water furious ; and the milk’d fly 
out of the cow’s udders and fairly make the water 
white. Well, course when all that milk went 
tumblin’ over the falls it got sioh a beatin’ that it’d 
be churned jest as nice as any one could wish. The 
butter’d float around in little flakes with the foam 
on the pool, and all we'd have to do to lay in a sup- 
ply of it ’d be to gether it up. We’d pack it down 
and it’d keep fer months.” 

Mr. Middleton wa3 perplexed. lie regarded the 
man before him as a curiosity, and hardly knew how 
to take his eccentricities. He wanted to laugh, but 
Mr. Roseberry seemed so earnest while relating these 
absurdities that Middleton was afraid of offending 
him. On the other hand it seemed so unreasonable 
that any one should tell such improbable stories with 
the expectation of having them believed, that Mid- 
dleton was afraid if he did not laugh Roseberry would 
think him a gullible fool. So not knowing whether 
to be serious or amused, he looked very silly. Rose- 


20 


A CLOVE IiD ALE SKELETON. 


berry saw his perplexity from the corner of his eye, 
and, smiling to himself arose, saying : 

“Well, I reckon I’ll go on up home and do up the 
chores,” he left the store. 

“ Queer old duffah ! ” said Middleton to Todd 
when Roseberry had gone. 

“ Yes; what do you think of him ? ” 

“ That is what I don’t know. He is either crazy 
or a born liah.” 

“What’s dat you say? What’s dat you say, sor?” 
The negro had arisen, and was approaching Middle- 
ton in a belligerent attitude. “No man’s gwine ter 
say, Misser Roseberry’s a liar when I’s aroun’. What 
he says is mighty wunnerful, but it’s de blessed fack, 
an’ you’s not gwine say he liar.” 

“ Be careful, Scip, be careful,” said Todd. “ This 
man is a mesmerist; he is apt to mesmerize you if you 
talk that way to him.” 

“He’s what?” asked Scip. 

“A mesmerist; he will bewitch you.” 

Scip backed away and looked at the youth silently. 

Taking the hint quickly, Middletou took a pinch 
of white powder from a package on the counter, and 
advancing slowly toward Snapp, sprinkled it over his 
head, at the same time making passes with his hands 
over the negro’s face. 

“What’s he gwine fer ter do?” asked Snapp, 
glancing helplessly at Todd. 

“ Do! why he’s going to bewitch you. You are in 
for it now.” 

“ Gwine ter bewitch me ! Good Lawd ! What’s 


AN EVENING WITH TTIE LOAFERS. 21 

dis po’ old coon done ter be bewitched? Please don’t; 
g’way now, doctor; dat’s a good doctor.” 

This sudden change of tone was so amusing that 
Middleton had to turn away to prevent Snapp from 
seeing that he was with difficulty restraining a laugh. 
It was strange how the reputation of possessing the 
power of witchcraft raised him in the estimation of 
the negro from an insignificant “kid” to the dignified 
title of “ doctor.” 

When Middleton turned again toward his victim, 
he found him trying to edge out of the corner where 
he had retreated to escape the mysterious and blight- 
ing power of witchcraft. His face wore an expres- 
sion of pitiful pleading, and he cast sidelong glances 
at the door. 

“ Stop ! stay where you are ! or by Hecate’s legion 
of witches,” said Middleton, waving his arms, “ I’ll 
wither you where you stand.” 

The negro trembled. 

“ Scipio Snapp,” said Middleton, in a solemn tone, 
“ you have committed an awful sin. The powahs of 
darkness have determined that you shall die. When 
a villain like you steals an innocent, unoffending 
tu’key from his secluded home in the coop behind 
the grocery, and bears him away to meet an untimely 
end in the cook stove in a niggah’s cabin, is death 
not a just punishment? Therefoah, make your peace 
with your Maker, for in two minutes I will cast a 
spell over you which will transport you to the regions 
of the lost.” 

Middleton turned away to hide a grin. Snapp’s 
eyes were staring wildly. He muttered to himself, 


oo 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON . 


“ What’s dis nigger done dat he has ter die ? Stole a 
turkey! Stole a turkey ! Dey don’t kill people fer 
stealin’, so what’s he gwine fer ter kill me fer? 
Must be fer sumpin’ else. O Lawd, have mercy!” 
Suddenly his jaw dropped : an idea more terrible 
than ever seemed to occur to him. His mind acted 
slowly, and as the new thought worked itself into 
his brain, he said, still mumbling audibly, “ Yes, yes ; 
dat’s it, dat’s it, sho nuff ; wants ter git dis nigger’s 

carcass ter take out to der ’sectin’ room whoop ! ” 

With a terrified yell Snapp bolted from his corner, 
knocking the would-be wizard sprawling, ran to the 
door and disappeared into outer darkness. 


OR'GON ROSEBEIili Y. 


23 


CHAPTER III. 

or’gon roseberry. 

Leaving Noah Todd, Ransom Middleton and the 
boy on the coal-box, to make merry over the final 
exit of Scipio Snapp from the drug-store, we will in- 
quire into the past history and general characteristics 
of Hezekiah Roseberry, Esq., who was at that moment 
making his way up the stony street to his home on 
the hill. 

In even the oldest of the western states is found that 
class of men called “ Old Settlers.” They are the men 
who left the culture and refinement of the East to 
come into the unknown West. There they began a 
struggle to vanquish everything that was wild, every- 
thing that would be in the way of advancing civiliza- 
tion, and to make homes for themselves and families. 
It was only natural that they partook of the rudeness 
and uncouthness of their surroundings ; and not at 
all to be wondered at that they have retained these 
impolite characteristics in old age, even among the 
more cultured generation which has grown up around 
them. 

Hezekiah Roseberry was an “ Old Settler.” He 
came to the West when a mere boy and invested a 
few hundred dollars in land. Having built himself 


24 


A CLOV Kit DALE SKELETON. 


a cabin near the hamlet of Cloverdale, he began to 
improve his farm. But in a few years, catching the 
universal craze, he hitched his only team to a covered 
wagon, and with a companion started across the plains 
in a wagon train to make a fortune in California gold. 
After months of life in the “ prairie schooner,” having 
suffered many hardships, they arrived in the gold 
country only to find miners in every ditch. This was 
a disappointment. Roseberry had hoped to find un- 
touched fields. Instead, at every stream were aban- 
doned diggings, and along with stories of men who 
had amassed immense fortunes, came others of thou- 
sands who had failed and had gone home penniless. 

Roseberry and his companion determined that they 
would seek regions where the prospectors were not so 
numerous. Loading the only horse that had survived 
the trip across the plains with mining outfits and the 
absolute necessities of life in a wild country, he and 
his companion started northward. They halted in 
the mountains of southern Oregon and began pros- 
pecting. Being somewhat successful they built them- 
selves a cabin in a romantic spot, and continued wash- 
ing in the sands of the streams for gold. Having to 
hunt for gold, and being in the Indian country, they 
had many adventures but survived them all. They had 
but few neighbors, so they missed much of the rough 
experience of mining camps. This was not a matter 
of regret to Roseberry, for he was not fond of the 
wickedness prevalent among gold-diggers. He pre- 
ferred to work quietly and alone, slowly gaining 
wealth and saving it all. Then his surroundings, the 
mountains, the forests and the streams, afforded 


OR'GON ROSEBERRY. 


25 


much delight to his imaginative mind, and he was 
content to linger. 

In about ten years his companion died, directing 
him to take the little fortune he left, to his relatives 
in the East. 

Life became a burden to Roseberry after he was 
left alone, and he soon determined to returned east- 
ward. Taking his own gold and that of his dead 
friend, he went to San Francisco and took passage on 
a vessel bound for New York. From there he went 
to the former home of his deceased friend and deliv- 
ered his dying messages and little fortune. Then he 
hurried on to the home he had commenced sixteen 
years before. He found Cloverdale much larger and 
soon to have a railroad. A few miles to the north a 
thriving young city was growing. Roseberry invested 
his few thousands in land, married, settled down, and 
at the age of fifty found himself well-to-do. His wife 
had died, leaving a daughter about fourteen, and a 
son five years of age. 

So much for Roseberry’s previous history and pres- 
ent condition ; the effect his surroundings at different 
times had had upon him is of more importance. 

Good-natured, although sometimes gruff, of a 
jovial spirit, congenial and honest, Hezekiah Rose- 
berry made friends wherever he went. Generous 
to all public enterprises, always ready to help those 
in need of help, he would have been a popular man 
anywhere. Every one knew Hezekiah Roseberry as 
a good citizen and an excellent friend, and as such he 
was respected. But one failing of his put him in a 
peculiar light in the estimation _of his fellow towns- 


26 


A CLOY EED ALE SKELETON. 


men. This was the habit of relating the absurdities 
which originated in his peculiarly imaginative mind 
with as great a show of earnestness as if they were 
all true. 

Since he had been a Small boy he had found enjoy- 
ment in wild fantastic tales. This love grew upon 
him as he grew older, and in the course of time he 
began to give utterance to the odd fancies which 
filled his mind. His residence in Oregon, with all 
its varied experiences developed this faculty to a 
certain extent. He loved to wander about in the 
wild gorges of the mountains, to watch the spray of 
the streams dash from the rocks and to wonder about 
all the things he saw. To assign odd causes for all 
that was mysterious in nature, and to people, in his 
imagination, the mountain fastnesses with supernatural 
beings, were his greatest pleasures. 

Several adventures which he and his companion 
had gave him material for several little romances, and 
when be returned to his former home he took delight 
in telling them to the loafers in the stores about town. 
He did not expect them to be believed, but he did 
want his ability as a story-teller to be appreciated. 
His auditors, having no appreciation for the art in 
his fanciful creations — if indeed there was any art in 
them — and being very skeptical, either sneered or 
laughed. All agreed that Hezekiah Roseberry was 
“ something of a liar.” 

This was discouraging. Not being by any means a 
genius, Roseberry let the discouragement have its 
effect upon him. His dreams he reserved for his own 
entertainment when alone ; but feeling an almost irre- 


OR' G ON ROSEBERRY. 


27 


sistible impulse to deal with the impossible, he de- 
generated in his conversations with his companions 
to mere exaggerations of natural facts, embellished by 
a few absurdities. Seated with the loafers of 
Cloverdale in Todd’s drug-store, he would spin his 
yarns to them incessantly. A casual remark made 
by any one in hearing distance would send Roseberry 
off into the narration of some tale or wonderful char- 
acteristic of the land of Oregon. His hearers would 
listen with attention until he had finished and then 
would look at each other with incredulous stares or 
break into boisterous fits of laughter. Roseberry 
would sometimes assume a little playful indignation 
at them for thus expressing disbelief in his stories, 
but they were at liberty to disbelieve them : he ex- 
pected nothing else. 

Roseberry’s exaggerations were very extravagant, 
and many of them were very commonplace, and 
lacked wit. Oregon, which was the subject of all his 
talk, was a country in which trees grew to a moun- 
tainous size ; corn-stalks were as large as our elms, and 
the ears which they produced were each as large as a 
man. He told of an apple which grew to a prodi- 
gious size. First its weight drew the branches to the 
ground ; then as it increased in magnitude the tree 
was torn up by the roots. At last it filled the field 
in which it grew. Four apple-jack distilleries thrived 
in one side of it, and a herd of cattle wintered in the 
other. Such stuff was, of course, ridiculous. 

If, in order to make a story seem more strange, it 
was necessary to say that the skies of Oregon were 
green or yellow instead of blue, if the interest in his 


28 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


talk would be increased by saying that silk grew on 
sheep’s backs, or that horses ran faster than railroad 
trains, or that cattle could speak and dogs sing, Mr. 
Roseberry never hesitated to make these extravagant 
exaggerations. 

There was more or less of self mixed up in Mr. 
Roseberry’s talk. He was the performer of many 
wonderful feats of strength, and took great pride in 
narrating them. Once. in his sleep he jumped into 
a roaring torrent near his cabin and carried out a 
boulder which weighed several tons. Again he 
washed out more gold in one night while asleep than 
he had obtained in a whole year of day labor. All of 
his physical power was not displayed while sleeping; 
once he had carried on his shoulder a beam of wood 
one foot wide, one foot thick and fifty feet long, the 
weight being so great as to sink him into the earth to 
his knees at every step. “ Ain’t nigh as strong now 
as I used to was,” said he. He failed to realize that 
there can be nothing artistic in a mere exaggeration. 

Although it may seem strange, this — liar, some 
people called him— was trusted in business matters. 
The note of Hezekiah Roseberry was as good as any 
man’s, and his promises were ever fulfilled. His 
family associated with the best people in Cloverdale, 
his eccentricities by no means depriving them of 
social recognition. His stories were regarded as the 
creations of a diseased imagination and not of a dis- 
honest heart. 

In fact his habit was becoming a mental disease ; 
for, although he recognized to some extent his fault, 
and on various occasions had attempted to reform, 


OR' G ON ROSEBERRY. 


29 


there always came an inclination too strong to be 
resisted by a will none too powerful. It gave him 
so much gratification to see the look of astonishment 
spread over the face of some new listener when he 
related some absurdity, that it was difficult for him 
to restrain himself from telling what constantly came 
into his mind through force of habit. 

In the dark days gone by, his wife, now departed, 
had shown him the folly of his ways and begged 
him to abandon them. His sister Deborah, prim, 
precise, a devoted church member, and strict to 
severity, had often said to him in her harsh warning 
voice, “ Hezekiah Roseberry, bridle thy tongue.” 
But he put his wife off with promises, and avoided his 
sister from dread of her. 

Notwithstanding the peculiarity of Roseberry ’s 
character, which, it would seem, would exclude him 
from any religious organization, he was a member of 
a church. He was not a very enthusiastic church 
member of late years, seldom led in prayer, and his 
pew, alas ! was too often empty. But the good 
brethren were willing to partially shut their eyes to 
his faults on account of his financial support, for he 
was liberal to the church. 

But there came a time when forbearance was not 
only not a virtue, but a positive sin ; for- the unbe- 
lievers looked askance and jeered at the religion of a 
church that would harbor such a sinner as Hezekiah — 
or “ Or’gon,” as he was universally known — Rose- 
berry. 

At last the elders of the church met in holy as- 
sembly to consider and take action upon the case of 


30 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


“ our beloved but erring brother.” Roseberry was 
present and sat with downcast eyes and guilty 
countenance before the assembled judges. The 
pastor, having called the meeting to order, stated, 
with an expression of grave responsibility, the object 
of the meeting. He said he regretted that it was a 
necessity, for aside from his besetting sin, there were 
few men he respected more than Brother Roseberry ; 
that the brother had been besought on many oc- 
casions to reform, but it had done no good ; that 
sinners were looking with distrust upon the church 
and blaming its members for not taking action upon 
the matter ; and that the fault in itself was one of 
the gravest nature. Having expressed himself, the 
pastor called upon others in authority to speak. 
They all expressed sorrow, but were determined to 
carry out the law of the church if the accused — or 
rather the convicted — did not repent and better his 
daily life. 

Then Mr. Roseberry himself was called upon and 
asked to give the state of his feelings. He arose, 
crossed his hands before him, looked persistently 
at the floor, and in a trembling voice addressed the 
assembly : 

“ Brethren, I feel much humiliated by this meet- 
in’. It grieves me to think I have been the cause of 
so much trouble to the church and done it so much 
harm. I’ve spent many a sleepless night thinkin’ 
and sorrowin’ about it. Yes, brethren, I’ve shed 
barrels and barrels of tears over it.” 

The pastor fell back in his chair with a sigh of 
discouragement and said not a word. 


Oli'GON ROSEBERRY. 


31 


“ Why ! why ! Brother Roseberry,” gasped Elder 
Perkins, “ do you — eh — eh — exaggerate right here 
on trial? You never shed no barrel of tears over 
nothin’.” 

“Well, maybe I haven’t,” said Roseberry, “but 
I’ve shed buckets full.” 

“ What shall we do with this Ananias of the 
Nineteenth Century?” roared Elder Perkins, rising 
to his feet and gesticulating wildly. Roseberry im- 
mediately reduced his tears of anguish to quarts ; but 
such an uproar was produced by his persistent ex- 
aggeration that he wilted completely and whimpered : 

“Well, brethren, mebbe I never shed no tears 
about it, but I’ve thought a heap over it and it’s 
made me feel powerful bad.” 

Two minutes later Hezekiah Roseberry walked 
away from the church from which he had been ex- 
pelled. Slowly he went along the street, his head 
bowed in thought. He was ashamed. At his gate 
he paused. A sullen angry gleam came into his eye, 
and he stretched forth his clenched fist in a defiant 
gesture. “Take your church, you sanctimonious old 
hypocrites,” he scowled, “ and run it to suit your- 
selves. I can git along without it.” 

Being in a defiant attitude towards the church, 
Roseberry gave himself up wholly to his favorite 
amusement, and had a partial revenge by airing some 
of the conspicuous faults of his former brethren in 
the church in his absurd stories. His fame increased, 
until there was not a better known man in the county, 
and his name became a synonym for everything 
improbable. 


32 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


But Roseberry was losing the respect of the com* 
munity. It had long been on the wane, but now 
decreased rapidly. “ Good-natured enough and hon- 
est,” all would say, “ but what a liar ! ” Citizens 
smiled as they passed him on the street, and the 
schoolboys saluted him as “Or’gon.” His acquaint- 
ances laughed over his stories at their firesides ; the 
gossips discussed them over their tea, and the small 
boys retold them with great gusto. Sober-minded 
men frowned at his folly ; others were disgusted with 
the “ idle liar,” and the name, “ Or’gon ” Roseberry, 
clung to him closer than ever. 

Thus do men pursue their favorite follies. 


AT ROSEBElili Y ' S HOME. 


33 


CHAPTER IV. 

AT ROSEBERRY’S HOME. 

Set on a hill, facing the long, shady street, which 
sloped gently down to the “ Med ” campus, a mile 
away, surrounded by pines and beeches, its low win- 
dows half hidden by lilac and rose-bushes, and its 
walks flanked by myrtle beds, stood Or’gon Rose- 
berry’s house. It was an irregular brick building, 
with a little white porch, having Grecian columns 
supporting an entablature of moulding, and two or 
three dormer windows jutting out from the weather- 
stained roof above. The house was not remarkable 
for its architectural harmony. Nevertheless, its pleas- 
ant surroundings, the beautiful view of the town and 
the hills beyond to be had from its front, and its 
homelike appearance, made it an ideal home for a 
quiet life. Under the influence of the natural beauty 
of the place, its owner ceased, while at home, to be 
Or’gon Iioseberry, the liar, and became Hezekiah 
Roseberry, the dreamer. 

Up the flagstone pavement on the avenue came a 
boy one pleasant afternoon. He crossed the street on 
the high stepping-stones, and entered Roseberry’s 
gate. Following the walk which ran around the 
house, he came to the kitchen door. It stood open, 
and he stepped over the threshold with the air of one 
3 


34 A CLOVE RDALE SKELETON. 

familiar with the place. He did not, however, seem 
to recognize a young woman who was bending over 
the stove, with her back toward him. He noticed 
that she was somewhat rustic in her appearance, her 
dress being coarse and very loose, and rather out of 
date, while her shoes were much too heavy for house 
wear. 

« Where is Uncle Roseberry?” the boy asked, see- 
ing that he was unnoticed. 

The figure at the stove turned half around. 

“ He went to — Why, Bob Moore, how do you 
come on? I never knowed it was you, er I’d ’a — 
well, how air ye, anyhow ? ” 

A frown that was on the girl’s face faded in an 
instant, and, as she rushed at the boy, her homely 
face beamed with pleasure. He returned her greet- 
ing, evidently pleased to see her. 

“ Well, well, Sally, I’m glad to see you. When 
did you come to town ? ” 

“ Why, I come in day ’fore yisterday. Mr. Rose- 
berry come out an’ said he didn’t have no help, an’ 
Becky wasn’t good fer much hard work, an’ he ’lowed 
if I’d come in an’ help ’em a spell he’d gimme better 
wages ’n I ever got afore. So I jest jumped in the 
old hack an’ he toted me right in, an’ here I am.” 

“ Well, now, that’s good, Sally. It seems like old 
times to have you around. How are all the folks out 
on Bean ? ” 

“ Oh, they’re right peert — all but dad; his rheuma- 
tiz’s bad as ever.” 

“ How are the boys ? ” 

“ They’re purty busy now ’tendin’ to the mill an’ 


AT ROSEBERRY'S HOME. 


35 


puttin’ in the corn. They’ve been a-lookin’ fer Babe 
an’ Wib an’ you out fer a week er two. Why hain’t 
you been out a-fishin’, anyhow ? Bean Bloom is jest 
chuck full o’ bass.” 

“ Is that so ? We’ll go out sure. Have the boys 
caught any? ” 

“ Well, now, I reckon they hain’t done nothin’ else. 
Sam went out one mornin’ las’ week ’long ’bout five 
in the mornin’, an’ stood on a rotten log jest below 
the dam, an’ thro wed his line in them riffles — you 
know them riffles on the mill side — and ’n ’bout an 
hour he ketched the finest mess o’ bass I ever see, 
must a been twelve pound. I never see the like.” 

“ How are the other fish biting?” 

“ Oh, I reckon they’d bite if they had half a chance, 
fish bein’ purty hungry ’bout now ; but it hain’t wuth 
while to fish fer cat er perch when bass is bitin’. 
Perch an’ cat can’t hold a candle to bass. Sam ’lows 
they’s plenty of both an’ cackerlates to git a sight of 
’em ’fore fall. ’Long ’bout time when they ain’t much 
to do, Sam fishes a good deal, Sam does.” 

“ You seem to be pretty well posted on fishing,” 
said Bob. 

“ Now, hain’t I ! Ef you’d a ketched ez many cats 
an’ goggle-eyes ez I hev, with a cotton line an’ wilier 
pole, I reckon you’d be posted on fishin’ too. Nothin’ 
slow ’bout my fishin’. Sam and me fishes a good 
deal when they ain’t much to do. But Bud don’t ; 
Bud ’d ruther come to town an’ set in Todd’s store 
an’ listen to — ” 

Just here Sally stopped talking and walked over 
to the other end of the room. She looked cautiously 


36 A CLOYEEDALE SKELETON. 

into the dining-room and finding that her fears, what- 
ever they were, were unnecessary, she returned to . 
Bob and continued her speech precisely where she 
had left off. 

“ — Or’gon Roseberry tell them big lies o’ his’n.” 

Bob glanced nervously at the door too. 

“ Bob,” continued the girl, “ I don’t take no stock 
in them lies. Bud thinks they’s funny ; but they’s 
nothin’ funny ’bout a big lie to me. Now, course, 
Bob, I wouldn’t say narry word ’bout this to any one 
but you. I know you won’t say nothin’ ’bout it to 
no one. But they’s jest one reason why I don’t want 
to stay here. Becky — ” shaking her head toward the 
front part of the house — “is jest ez nice ez kin be — 
don’t do no bossin,’ ner nothin,’ an’ the little feller is 
a quiet little chap an’ don’t cause me no trouble ; 
but Hezekiar — Or’gon — Annernias — Roseberry tells 
so many o’ them plague ’on ornery lies o’ his’n that 
it makes me plum sick.” 

Bob listened attentively. He was a good listener. 
He had to be, as did every one else, when Sally 
talked. 

Sally paused just here and walked over to the 
stove. She had been ironing before Bob came in, 
but had become so interested in the conversation 
that she had forgotten all about it. Still a few pieces 
remained to be ironed, and after adjusting the tea- 
kettle and lifting a stove-lid to stir the fire, she took 
an iron and touched its hot bottom with the tip of 
her finger, moistened on her tongue. That hiss of 
moisture on a hot iron has a homelike sound. It has 
made many a wandering tramp begging at the door 


AT ROSEBERR Y ’ <S HOME. 


37 


think of the home he lived in long before, gone with 
its scenes of domestic life forever. It made Bob 
think of ironing day long before when his mother 
was living and he ironed the towels and the napkins 
for her. 

Sally crossed the room to the ironing-table, took a 
towel from the basket, and having given the iron a 
few preliminary rubs over a cloth, provided for that 
purpose, she commenced ironing. 

“An’ Bob,” she said after this pause, “you don’t 
know what a yarn he tole me tother day.” 

“ What was it ? ” Bob asked. 

“ The bees was a-swiggin’ honey out o’ the blooms 
o’ them crab-apple trees out there,” giving her head 
a jerk, “ an’ I jest remarked to Mr. Roseberry, not a 
jawin’ ’bout it at all, that your bees ’d take all the 
sweetness out o’ them crabs an’ they’d be souer’n 
ever this 3 r ear, when he set in an’ told me the 
blam’dest yarn. He said out ’n Or’gon they planted 
an apple tree by the house an’ the apples growed so 
big, the bees never done no work in the spring. They 
jest laid low till summer er late in the fall, an’ then a 
couple of ’em ’d steal a sneak on one o’ them apples 
big ez your head er bigger an’ carry it off ez easy ez 
failin’ off a log. They’d take it to the woods, cut 
it up an’ put it in a mussel shell. Then they’d start 
fire with some leaves an’ grass by strikin’ their 
stingers agin a flint, an’ bile down the apple, scoop it 
up into honey an’ stow it away in a hollow tree in 
no time. Now wasn’t that a yarn an’ a half! ” 

Sally pursed up her lips very severely and looked 
at Bob out of the corner of her eye. 


38 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


“Now wouldn’t you like to hev some kin o’ yourn 
spin sech — gosh! there, I’ve burnt this towel. It does 
beat the dickens ! ” 

A smell of scorched cotton was in the air. Sail)’ 
had let her iron rest too long on one spot. She could 
not iron and talk at the same time. 

“Where is Uncle Roseberry ? ” Bob inquired 
again. 

“ He went to Cincinopolis this mornin’. Don’t 
know whether he’s got back or not. Like ez not he’s 
down in Todd’s store a-tellin’ stories. It’s a thing 
he’d orter stop, sure ez — ” 

“ Where did you say he went ? ” 

“ Cincinopolis. Want to see him very pertikiler ?” 

Bob smiled. There was a charming indefiniteness 
about “ Cincinopolis.” 

“ No,” he said, somewhat evasively. “You know 
I come here pretty often just to see the folks. Is — ”, 
Bob’s breath grew a trifle short, just here, “ is — Reba 
about ? ” 

Bob’s face flushed a little. He could not conceal 
his emotions ; they would creep to the surface. “ Con- 
found it!” he thought, “what makes me so bashful 
anyhow ? ” 

Sally trudged over to the dining-room door, put 
her head within, and bawled out : 

“ Becky, Beckee ! Oh, Becky! Bob’s hyur.” 

“ Tell him to come out here,” was the answer. 

Sally looked at Bob, and Bob looked at Sally. The 
voice, instead of coming from some distant part of the 
house as they expected, was heard just beyond the 
arbor outside the door, and in easy hearing distance 


AT ROSEBERRY'S HOME. 


39 


of all that had been said. Sally put her coarse red 
hand over her mouth and rolled her eyes. Bob nerved 
himself to the task of confronting Reba unconcerned, 
and went to her, apparently unconscious that he 
knew she had overheard. 

Upon a bench under 3, pine beyond the arbor, some 
fancy work in her hands, and scraps of light material 
such as women love to work with by her on the seat, 
sat Reba. Reba was a tall dark girl ; one in whose 
eyes there was depth ; one in whose face there was 
intelligence and expression ; one who was conscious 
of the seriousness of life, and had little sympathy with 
its frivolities. It was strange that one so young 
should show so plainly the evidences of character, 
the weight of thought and care. Some minds reach 
maturity early because of precocity ; others because 
circumstances have early thrown them in positions 
of authority and responsibility in which mental 
maturity has been necessary. Thus it was with Reba. 
Her mother died when she was a child, and her father, 
never having remarried and never having had a 
permanent housekeeper, she early took part in the 
management of household affairs, and with a skill and 
understanding which surprised her jovial parent. 
Reba had always been a sober, demure child, a com- 
panion more to her own thoughts than to other 
children. Of late she had been more alone than ever 
and her face had been more solemn. Her father 
wondered what made his Becky so different from 
other girls. It was in part because she had more 
responsibility than others had. 

“ Good-evening, Bob,” she said in return to that 


40 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


young gentleman’s greeting, as he emerged from the 
arbor. “ I have been wondering why you have neg- 
lected us lately. Come and sit down.” 

She removed some of the light fabrics from the 
seat and made room for him. 

“ I have been rather busy this week,” he said, seat- 
ing himself. “ Have had to go to school all the time 
and do a good deal of work besides. I have had to 
go out to the farm three times this week, and that 
takes some time, you know. I have hardly seen Wib 
or Babe for I don’t know how long. But I won’t have 
so much to do now for a while.” 

And so the conversation drifted on about this and 
that; Bob, somewhat animated, doing most of the 
talking, but listening closely to Reba’s melodious 
voice when she spoke. 

Then, the talking lagged, and Reba sat quietly 
working, while Bob, sitting sidewise on the bench 
with one arm on its back and the other resting on his 
crossed knees, watched her needle move in and out 
the cloth, occasionally resting his eyes on her black 
hair and her beautiful face. He was in a state of 
contentment. 

But a look of curiosity, perhaps anxiety, came into 
his face. He would question her. 

“ Reba.” 

She looked up. 

“ Why have you looked so sad of late ? ” 

She looked down at her work and paused a moment 
before she replied. 

“ You know, Bob, there’s a skeleton in our 
closet.” 


AT ROSEBERRY' S HOME. 


41 


Bob knew it full well and was silent. 

It was growing dark. The shadow of the great 
barn, a few rods away, had crept across the road into 
the pasture beyond, and had finally been lost in the 
shadows of the woods to the west. The pigeons, in 
their large ornamented house perched on the top of 
a pole in the barn-yard, were nestling into comfort- 
able positions for the night, cooing the while. With- 
in the kitchen were heard the rattling of stove-lids 
and the sliding of pans in and out of the oven. Sav- 
ory smells announced the preparation of supper. 

Bob looked out over the scene about him. It was 
a beautiful one and never more so than at evening. 
The long hill, on which Roseberry’s house was situ- 
ated, sloping both north and south, marked the boun- 
dary of Cloverdale, and looking north the country 
unobstructed by houses and streets was open to the 
view. To the left was a magnificent piece of forest 
known as Roseberry’s Woods. In the front was the 
pasture, rolling and green, a large solitary elm in the 
centre, and at the further end a clump of beeches, 
from under whose exposed roots and the rocks into 
whose crevices they crept, flowed the finest spring in 
all the county. It, too, bore the name of Roseberry 
— Roseberry Spring. It was a resort for idlers and 
pleasure-seekers, students from the “ Med.” To the 
right the white turnpike road ran down to lose itself 
in the frequent turns and curves of Rocky Branch 
Hollow. A mile and a half to the north was the 
summit of Skeete’s Hill. It was becoming dim and 
hazy in the twilight, and the whole landscape was 
indistinct. The freshness of early spring was in the 


42 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


grass iii the pastures, and in the trees in .the woods, 
and its chill was in the air. 

Reba took up a wrap to draw it around her. As 
Bob turned to assist he saw a roguish little face stuck 
through the vines on the arbor. 

“ Hello there, Bob Moore ! ” said a childish voice. 
“Me and Stanley Griggs is here and we been a-watch- 
in’ you a long time, and we got somepin to show 
you.” 

The face drew back and the footsteps passed down 
the arbor walk. Reba and Bob were soon confronted 
by two boys, one about five, and the other eight 
or nine. The little fellow climbed into his sister’s 
lap while his companion was approaching. This 
larger boy was of a pleasant appearance, well dressed, 
and he had a cigar box under his arm. He stopped 
a few feet away, and with a most bewitching smile, 
said : 

“ Here I am again.” 

Having thus announced his arrival, he came nearer, 
opened the box which he carried, and displayed the 
contents to Reba and Bob. 

“ See ? ” he said, “ it’s money. I saved it. I saved 
it all up myself. Got so much I have to carry it in 
a cigar box. I’m going to get it full and then I’m 
going to buy something, all for myself. Have you 
got any coppers ? You’d better give ’em to me if you 
have, for I’m saving ’em all up. They’ll buy some- 
thing big when I get enough. What do you spend 
your money for? I spend mine for — Oh, lots of 
things ! Have you got any coppers ? ” 

Bob fumbled in his pocket and produced five cents. 


AT ROSEliERRY'S HOME. 


43 


Reba smiled and talked nicely to the boy, explaining 
that her purse was in the house. The interest 
they exhibited in Stanley Griggs was remarkable. 
Every one who knew him yielded to him in every- 
thing he demanded or kept him in a good-humor by 
kind words. He had a mania for collecting all sorts 
of things, and was never seen without the cigar box. 
People who refused him what he asked, and through 
ignorance of his nature spoke harshly to him, were 
generally rewarded by being cursed most lustily. 
Stanley would stand before the school building and 
curse the teachers because they would not let him 
come to school. The people endured all this, and 
there was a reason why they should. Stanley was an 
incurable lunatic. He had been sent to more than 
one asylum, but in every case the manager had de- 
spaired of doing anything with him and had sent him 
home. So he was allowed to run the streets and 
amuse himself. He was harmless save for this habit 
of using very profane language on the slightest prov- 
ocation. 

Reba and Bob easily kept him in a good humor for 
a few minutes, but were very much relieved when, 
having heard the front gate slam, he darted away 
toward it. 

“ Here I am again,” they heard him say, “ I’ve got 
some money this time. I’ve saved it all up. Have 
you got any coppers ? You’d better ” 

“ Well, well,” said a gruff, good-natured voice, 
“ Stanley, is that you? It’s dark now. You mustn’t 
be foolin’ round here this time of night ; ” — he 


44 A CLOYEIiDALE SKELETON. 

opened the gate — “ you’d better toddle along home, 
now. Go on ; your father wants you.” 

This was the wrong thing to say to Stanley Griggs. 
He felt the harshness of it but could not detect the 
good nature beneath it. He passed rapidly through 
the gate into the street. There he stopped. 

“ Oh, Oregon Roseberry ; you’re the biggest liar 
in the state. My father says so.” Then followed 
the expected burst of profanity, and a stone whizzed 
through the air, bounded along the brick walk and 
came to a stop against a post of the grape arbor. 

Mr. Roseberry came down the walk and went into 
the house. 

On the bench no one spoke. Nothing that could 
have been said could have made it easier for Reba to 
hear the terrible words uttered by the crazy boy. 
Soon she sat little Joe down on the ground and arose, 
saying, “ Let’s go in the house.” 

They stopped at the door, and Mr. Roseberry 
called out from the window, “ come Bob and have 
supper with us.” 

“No, thank you, Uncle Roseberry,” said Bob. 
“ They expect me at home.” 

“ Remember, you and the boys are expected here 
to-morrow night,” said Reba, pausing at the door. 

“ Yes ; we will be here, Good-night.” 

“ Good-night,” said the low voice, and Bob walked 
thoughtfully away. 


MIDDLETON AS A LOVER. 


45 


CHAPTER V. 

MIDDLETON AS A LOVER AND SNAPP AS A PROPHET. 

After Snapp had so unceremoniously left the 
store, Middleton picked himself up, brushed the 
dust off his clothes, and sat down upon a counter to 
discuss Cloverdale characters in general and Oregon 
Roseberry and Scipio Africanus Snapp in particular. 
Trade was rather dull and there was no one present 
besides himself, Mr. Todd, and the boy on the coal 
box. The latter had been a silent spectator, and 
was, as the saying goes, “ all ears.” He leaned 
against the wall and listened. 

“ Yes,” said Todd, in reply to some remark of 
Middleton’s, “Roseberry is a peculiar man and he 
has a reputation far and wide for telling such tales as 
he told here to-night. He was put out of the church 
on account of it some time ago. I think it causes his 
daughter considerable mortification.” 

“ He has a daughter, then ? ” 

“ Oh, yes! And a very pretty little girl she is too, 
about fourteen or fifteen.” 

“ What sort of a looking girl is she? ” Middleton 
inquired. No pleasanter topic of conversation for 
him could have been found. 

“ Rather tall for her age ; slender ; dark hair and 
eyes ; complexion dark ; dignified ” 

“You don’t say so,” broke in Middleton, swinging 


46 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

his legs to and fro in nervous interest. “I wonder 
if it can be ? Have you seen her to-day ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ What kind of a dress did she have on ? ” 

“Gray cloth of some kind, fit pretty snug, and 
had a lot of funny business down the front.” Mr. 
Todd was not well informed in regard to feminine 
apparel. 

“ By George ! that’s her,” exclaimed Mr. Middle- 
ton in high glee and in defiance of English grammar as 
he leaped down from the counter, whirled off a few 
feet and back in a waltz, kicked up one foot higher 
than his head, slapped one of his legs enthusiastically 
and sat down on the counter again, grinning. 

“What’s the matter with you?” Todd asked. 
“You don’t mean to say you have made an impres- 
sion?” 

“ Well, I do mean to say that very thing,” said 
Middleton, “I was going down the ‘Av’ this 
afternoon and I saw her coming along, and of course 
I did my best. Well, sah, she gave me the ten- 
derest look out of the corner of her eye you ever saw. 
I gave my tile a vigorous swing, I tell you. O ! 

‘ She’s a daisy, she’s a ’ ” 

“ You are mistaken about her flirtation,” said 
Todd, “ Reba isn’t that kind of a girl. That tender 
expression as you call it, is her way of looking at all 
times. She seems to have a look of settled mel- 
ancholy.” 

“ But I am not mistaken, Mr. Todd; she looked at 
me out of the corner of her eye this way,” said Mr. 
Middleton, in his faint Southern pronunciation, and 
he executed a manoeuvre with his orbs of vision, 


MIDDLETON AS A LOVER. 


47 


which would have made the giddiest flirt envious. 

“Now, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m 
going to talk to — what’s her name ? ” 

“Rebecca — Reba for short. The old man calls 
her Becky.” 

“ Becky ! that’s a pretty name. I am going to talk 
to Becky on the street, and then I’m going up to 
call. Then I’ll — whisper soft nihilities into her 
shell-like ear.” 

“ Well, I guess not ; ” said Mr. Todd, “ not if the 
old man is around. He doesn’t allow her to have 
company yet ; she hasn’t made her d^but, you know.” 

“ Thunder ! ” exclaimed Middleton. “ Now, what 
am I to do ? I reckon I’ll have to woo in secret, for 
I’m hard hit, you know.” 

The boy on the coal-box had been frowning 
severely during the latter part of this conversation, 
and at this point jumped down and strode out of 
the store. 

Most of the stores were shut when he passed along. 
Half a block away from Todd’s store, sitting in the 
doorway of a dark stair, he saw Scipio. It was 
very dark, an awning being overhead, and the boy 
could hardly see. He recognized Scipio more by the 
slouchy way in which he was sitting and by his pref- 
erence for that particular stairway, than by seeing 
his dusky features. 

“ Hello, Scip,” he said, “ is that you ? It did me 
good to see you knock that blame fool down.” 

“ Oh, fer de Lawd sake, Masser Wib ! don’t call 
dat man a fool no mo’ ; he bewitch you.” 

“ Nonsense, Scip ! he was trying to scare you. 
There is no such thing as witchcraft.” 


48 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

“ Oh, yes, dey is, Masser Wib ; yes, dey is so. I’s 
seen many a bugaboo in de old slave days, when I 
was in Maryland an’ furder , souf ; an’ dat Middle- 
ton’s anudder.” 

“Nobody believes in witchcraft now, Scip, but 
some of you old fellows who were in slavery. Even 
these younger niggers know it’s all nonsense.” 

“ Now, Masser Wib, don’t eompar’ us po’ ole slaves 
ter dese smart niggers. De slaves lamed some raisin’ ; 
dey treats people perlite ; but look out fer dese young 
kids ; dey’ll spit in yo’ face ef you don’t look out. 
Dey don’t know nuffin, nudder. Dey hain’t had no 
’sperience. I’s seen many a ghos’ down Souf floatin’ 
roun’ ober de swamps. An’ onct,” — here Scip’s 
voice grew low, he would not speak loudly of the 
mysterious, — “ when I was hidin’ out ter dodge a 
lickin’, de bloodhoun’s was arter me, an’ I heered 
’em a-bayin’ ’way down in de bayou, an’ I couldn’t 
git acrost fer de yallergaters, an’ I was dat skeered 
I mos’ turned white. Den I seed a light wavin’ at 
me in de swamp an’ I follered it up. Suffin’ in 
white was carryin’ dat light on de shoulders where de 
head ought ter be, an’ it went on befo’ me fru de 
cane brake an’ inter de swamp whar de water an’ de 
slime was up ter dis chile’s neck. By’mby I come 
ter dry groun’ in der swamp an’ I stopped an’ de 
houn’s couldn’t git me.” 

“ Did you get away ? ” 

“ No, no, Masser Wib, I stayed dar fer a week an’ 
mos’ starved, an’ I got de fever an’ den I drug my- 
self back ter de plantation, an’ ketched a lickin’ when 
I was mos’ dead.” 


MIDDLETON AS A LOVER. 


49 


Snapp paused and thought awhile. Then his mind 
came back to the starting point. 

“Dat ghos’ was a good one; it kep’ me from 
de houn’s; but dis Middleton’s a reg’lar black 
witch.” 

Wib smiled and asked him how he knew. 

“ Well, you knows, Masser Wib, dat’n de winter 
time I tends to de furnace room down te der college. 
Sometimes ’Fessor Mullins ax me ter bring 'im a 
bucket ob coal up ter de li’l room, by de lab’tory fer 
a li’l machine he got ter bile water wid. One day 
dis spring he sent me inter de lab’tory fer suffin, an’ 
dis Middleton was dar all fix up wid he apern an’ 
cap, an’ a wuckin’ away. I watched ’im an’ I knows 
no man cud ’a done what he done den ’less he war a 
witch. He had a li’l glass, big at de top an’ li’l at 
de bottom, wid figgers an’ marks up an’ down de side, 
an’ he had some water in it. Den he took a piece ob 
blue paper an’ dipped it in de water, an’ when he 
pulled it out it was red.” 

Scipio paused to note the effect on Wib. Wib, 
however, was not at all horrified. 

“ Well, what then ? ” he inquired. 

“ Den I was skeert an’ I went in de udder room an’ 
peeped in fru de crack ob de do’, an’ I watched ’im 
fer an hour, an’ he done de curioses tings I eber 
see. Onct he put some salt in he li’l glass an’ 
po’ed some water on it an’ it tu’ned green. Golley ! 
dat war bad ; but he done suffin’ wusser. He po’ed 
two ob dem glasses ob water t’geder, an’, Masser 
Wib, sho’s I’m a-sittin’ hyar, de smoke come up from 
dat glass wusser’n it comes out ob de big smoke- 
stack. Dis chile doan go ’roun’ dar no mo’. No, sar ; 


50 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


dis chile doan want nuddin’ do wid dat man Middle- 
ton. He witch. He want my carcass t’ take ter de 
’sectin’ room.” 

“ You’re afraid of him, then ? ” 

“ ’Deed I is ; I is so.” 

“ Then what made you spunk up to him in the 
store this evening?” 

“ Well, you see, Masser Wib, I didn’ tink den dat 
he want my carcass. Now I knows it, an’ ’sides dat, 
he make me so mad when he call Misser Roseberry 
liar. Misser Roseberry magnan’mus minded man, 
Misser Roseberry is, an’ I doan want no one t’ slander 
’im.” 

Scip moved closer to Wib and in a confidential 
tone said : 

“An’ let me tell you, Masser Wib, suffin’ awful 
gwine happen in dis town fo’ long, fer dat man 
Middleton not gwine home when de term’s ober ; he 
gwine stay here an’ practice he witchcraft. You 
’member what I say — suffin’ awful gwine happen.” 

“ How are you going to keep out of his way? You 
stay around the college a good deal.” 

Scip had been looking down street, and half rose 
to his feet as he answered : 

“ I’s not dar much in de summer ; when I do see 
him, I’s gwine do like I do now — I skip.” 

Saying this he glided rapidly across the street, 
opened the iron gate at the court-house, softly 
closed it behind him and disappeared among the 
trees. 

Wib looked down street. He heard footsteps, and 
a tall form came into the glare of the light from a 
window. It was Middleton. 


THE SKELETON IN ACTION. 


51 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE SKELETON IN ACTION. 

The months of spring are fickle. Even May, 
renowned as she is as the month of balmy airs and 
blossoms and sunshine, occasionally ceases to woo 
the summer, and courts bleak winter. Then the 
opening buds are chilled, and the new young leaves 
look pale and sickly. The birds sit stupidly in the 
half-bare trees, and forget to sing. In the pastures 
and about the barns the cattle stand dejected in the 
freezing rain. Humanity, too, is disappointed, and 
frowning faces are pressed against the window-panes. 
The fireplaces, which, during the warm days, have 
been useless and forgotten, again glow with brilliant 
coals, and supply the cheer which the outside world 
denies. 

On the evening of such a day Or’gon Roseberry 
sat in his big armchair before the fireplace in the sit- 
ting-room of his home. The fire burned dimly. An 
occasional flame, longer and fiercer than the rest shot 
up the chimney, making the shadows shrink, only to 
grow and deepen and flicker unsteadily when the 
blaze subsided. Roseberry’s shadow on the wall be- 
hind him, from a natural size, would instantly grow 
so large that all the wall and half the ceiling would 
be covered by it. It was larger even than any giant 


52 ^ CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

in the mystic land far away on the Pacific coast. 
Roseberry loved to sit by the fire in the evening, his 
slippered feet before him on the hearth, and watch 
the smoke from his pipe curl upward, then descend 
with the draught and go up the chimney. He loved 
to watch the coals glow and dim, and to see the back- 
log burn to ashes. Such surroundings were so favor- 
able to meditation. 

On this particular evening his vagrant thoughts 
carried him back to Oregon, as was their custom. 
They roamed over that beautiful country and filled 
it with new and strange beings. He gave full range 
to his fancy, and on a winged horse he was carried 
over mountains and seas into the clouds, whose 
vapory shapes formed themselves into towers and 
battlements at his command. 

This was in a sober moment — for Roseberry had 
very sober moments — and his face as seen in the fire- 
light had a solemn mien ; while the puffs of smoke 
came slowly from his mouth, sailed lazily around be- 
fore him, and drifted up the chimney. 

Then a funny mood came over the dreamer. His 
winged horse was changed into a donkey, with ears 
so large that he used them for wings. Mounted on 
the donkey’s back, clinging on for dear life by dig- 
ging his hands into the beast’s hair, he flew at the 
head of two long lines of \yild geese as they went 
cackling and squawking southward. The earth ap- 
peared far below him. He had never been so high 
before. Rivers were white threads ; mountains, hills ; 
cities, spots; lakes, ponds. Who ever imagined these 
cantankerous geese flew so high ? What a noise they 
made l They seemed to be quarrelling about some- 


THE SKELETON IN ACTION. 


53 


thing — where they should descend, perhaps. What 
a discord, too, made the braying, cackling donkey ! 
How his furry ears, or wings, flapped in the thin air ! 
What a ridiculous situation it was \ Suddenly at an 
unusually unharmonious command from their noisy 
leader, the entire flock began to descend rapidly to 
the earth. Roseberry clung tighter and his hair 
stuck straight out in all directions with fright. 
Horrors I They were coming down on the water. 
Splash ! 

Roseberry awoke from his dream, for he had fallen 
asleep, with a violent start, which threw his pipe 
upon the hearth and broke it into fragments. He 
found himself clinging with a determined grip to the 
arms of his chair, and was conscious of a state of 
excitement. 

“What is the matter, father? You have broken 
your pipe,” said a quiet voice behind him. 

Roseberry tried to conceal the look of sheepishness 
which irresistibly took control of his countenance, 
by stooping to pick up the pieces of his shattered 
meerschaum and casting them into the fire. 

“ Get a broom, daughter, and sweep the tobacco 
into the ashes. Bad luck! Such a fine color, 
too!” 

He did not answer her question, but watched her 
silently as she swept the hearth. Roseberry did not 
like to have Reba catch him in a dream or telling a 
story. It caused him a slight uneasiness. She re- 
sembled her mother so much in appearance and dis- 
position that he often thought how his departed wife 
had begged him to stop his unfortunate habit- This 
thought, however, did not impress him nearly as 


54 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


much as it should have done, for like all men who 
are slaves to habits or hobbies, he did not realize how 
great his fault really was. 

The front gate slammed and footsteps were heard 
on the walk. 

“ Here come the boys, father,” said Reba. 

The expected knock came. Reba opened the door, 
and three jovial young fellows stepped in, a few flakes 
of melting snow glistening on their overcoats. 

“ Why, why, why,” exclaimed Mr. Rosebeny, 
jumping up and shaking hands cordially with the 
visitors, “ glad to see you, glad to see you. Take off 
your things an’ give ’em to Becky. Becky, take ’em 
in the other room an’ hang ’em up by the fire. Well, 
boys, I’m glad to see you. Have seats. How 
long’s it been since you was here last time, any- 
how?” 

“It was the time of the last big snow,” said a 
member of the trio who was large, and evidently jolly, 
as he seated himself by the fire. “Don’t you remem- 
ber, Mr. Roseberry, we sat here and ate maple sugar, 
pop-corn, apples and nuts till eleven o’clock ? ” And 
he slyly winked at his companions. 

“ So it was, Babe, so it was. Did you say sugar, 
nuts ? Sally ! Oh, Sally ! ** called Mr. Roseberrv, 
and then continuing to the boys, “ Winter ain’t quite 
over yit, ’pears like, an’ they ain’t no use rushin’ the 
season by openin’ the doors an’ puttin’ out the 
fires, so let’s make a winter night of it. Sally, Oh, 
Sally ! ” 

Sally’s head appeared in the hall door-way. 

“ Sally,” said Mr. Rosebeny, “ bring up some o’ 
them molasses I brought in from the farm las’ Friday, 


THE SKELETON IN ACTION. 55 

right quick ; we want to bile it down to sugar.” 

“ Will right smart be a plenty ? ” Sally inquired, 
with her characteristic indefiniteness. 

The boys smiled very perceptibly, as Mr. Rose- 
berry answered her question in the affirmative and 
she hastened away. Little Joe appeared in the door- 
way and his father immediately dispatched him to the 
summer-kitchen for pop-corn and poppers. Reba 
brought nuts ; and in a very short time, the Rose- 
berry family with their visitors, Bob, Wib and Babe, 
were eating pop-corn, maple taffy and nuts, and 
making exceedingly merry around the fireplace. 
Sally, seated on one side of the hearth, and little Joe 
on the other, held poppers of corn over the glowing 
coals, and occasionally emptied them on the white 
heap in a big bowl between them. Reba and the boys 
laughed and talked over the sugar and nuts, while 
her father in his big arm-chair, looked on smiling, and 
sent light clouds of smoke from a cob-pipe which he 
had resurrected from behind the clock on the mantel. 
And so the hours glided away. 

Tap, tap, tap, came a little knock. The company 
all turned to look as the door stealthily opened and a 
little head was thrust in. 

Here I am again,” said a gentle voice. No one 
but Stanley Griggs habitually announced himself that 
way. 

He came in, closed the door softly behind him, 
adjusted the cigar box under his arm, and walked 
mysteriously on his tip-toes to the closet door, in the 
chimney corner. Lifting the latch, he opened the 
door and peered in. He stood motionless a few mo- 
ments, then felt carefully under the garments which 


56 


A CLOVE RD ALE SKELETON. 


hung from wooden pegs all around the sides of the 
closet. What he was searching for was not there, 
for, closing the door he turned away, muttering half 
aloud to himself, as he crossed the floor : 

“ It isn’t there ; it has gone. I only came, just to 
see. But it has gone; it isn’t there. Poor thing! 

I wonder if it will come again. If it does ” 

The boy went out, closing the door softly after 
him. 

By the dim light of the fire, Mr. Roseberry was 
seen sitting motionless, his pipe held stiffly in his 
hand, just as he was about to put the stem in his 
mouth. 

“ What’s the matter with that crazy boy, now ? ” 
he said. 

Although every one of the company knew Stanley 
Griggs very well, they were all impressed with his 
strange conduct, and they talked about it in low 
tones. The gayety of the first part of the evening 
did not return. 

An idea seemed to come into little Joe’s head after 
a while, and he broke the silence by climbing into 
his father’s lap and asking : 

“ Papa, what is a skeleton ? ” 

“ Hey?” 

“ What’s a skeleton ? ” 

“ What a question ! ” said Mr. Roseberry, and he 
proceeded to give Joe the desired information.” 
“What made you think ’bout that,” he then in- 
quired. 

“ Oh, I heard Becky say something about one the 
other day. Tell me a story about a skeleton, papa, 
please.” 


THE SKELETON IN ACTION. 


57 


Reba and Bob exchanged looks at Joe’s remark, 
but were silent. 

Roseberry had been dreaming over again on that 
day an old dream, and in it a skeleton figured. The 
air of mystery in Stanley’s visit, had put him in just 
the humor to relate it. The children too, were quiet ; 
in just the mood to listen to a mysterious tale ; so 
Mr. Roseberry told the day-dream, which, bereft in 
some degree of his defective English, was about as 
follows : 

“Near where the foot-hills of a range of mountains 
in Southern Oregon begin to merge into the higher 
peaks, there stood many years ago a cabin where I 
once lived when a young man. It stood by the side 
of a roaring mountain torrent, from which many a 
trout has leaped at the end of my fishing line. To 
the west arose the mountains, in whose gorges I have 
often washed for gold, and in whose forests I have 
hunted. To the east was the rolling land, over 
which we could look for many miles from our cabin 
door. 

“ My companion and I were alone for a long time 
in our wild home. We were far away from the 
sights and sounds of civilization. The roaring of the 
stream, the songs of the birds, and the occasional cry 
of some wild animal in the woods were almost the 
only sounds we heard during the day. At night the 
howls of the cowardly coyotes and the cries of the 
wolves, mingled with the roar of the mountain 
stream awoke feelings in me which I shall never 
forget.” 

Here Mr. Roseberry cast a look about him to see 
the effect of his preliminary remarks. Expressions 


58 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

of calm interest had settled upon the faces of all. 
Each one had taken a comfortable position, so as to 
catch every word with little exertion. The back-log 
was a large mass of bright coals. Now and then 
some part of it would fall to pieces, sending a few 
sparks flying lazily up the chimney. A pleasant 
warmth pervaded the room, and all were quietly 
listening as Roseberry continued : 

“ One evening when the work for the day was 
over and we had eaten our supper, I stood before the 
cabin, somewhat discontentedly musing upon my 
monotonous life. I found being so far away from 
civilization more difficult to endure than I supposed 
it would be. We never heard from our homes in the 
east, or of what was going on in the world ; and al- 
though I was more fond of solitude than most men, 
I often grew sick of it. I thought of my home in the 
east, abandoned for one in the wilderness. Tears 
came into my eyes as I thought of it. I was aware 
of being homesick ; and to hide my emotion from my 
companion, who was sitting in the door-way, I 
walked slowly down the slope to the woods, which 
began a short distance to the south. 

“ The sun had sometime before disappeared behind 
the mountains, and twilight was deepening into night. 
The moon, brightening with the gathering darkness, 
hung in the south. Not a cloud was in the sky. It 
was one of those clear, beautiful nights we have some- 
times in the spring, and early summer. It suited my 
mood, and I walked on in the woods, unmindful of 
the dangers, which, unarmed as I was, might befall 
me. 

“ I soon came to the brow of a wooded hill, and as 


THE SKELETON IN ACTION. 59 

the moon lit up the scene beyond, I could see through 
the top branches of the trees on the descent, far be- 
low me. For some distance there was dark forest. 
The mountain range at my right extended south- 
ward, becoming more and more indistinct as I di- 
rected my eye nearer the southern horizon. At a 
distance of a mile to the left there was an open val- 
ley. A light mist arose from it, and in the moon- 
light it looked like a lake. That was the prettiest 
sight I ever saw, and many a time afterward, I 
visited the place and thought of the mysterious 
things which occurred to me that night. 

“At the first view of the scene my feelings of love 
for the beauty of the landscape were too intense for my 
homesickness to continue its complete control of me; 
but when my admiration was somewhat quieted and 
I leaned back against the rock by which 1 sat, giving 
myself up to a mild enjoyment, my homesickness re- 
turned. This same moon, I thought, is rising on my 
deserted home in the east, and — 

“ 1 Homesick, eh ? ’ interrupted a cracked voice be- 
hind me. 

“ A thrill of horror ran through me and I sprang 
from my seat on the damp ground and stared in the 
direction from which the voice came. Sitting on the 
exposed root of a tree within ten feet of where I had 
sat was the queerest little codger I ever saw. He 
was no more than five feet tall and was fat, so that 
his ample suit of green and yellow was well filled. 
He had an odd sort of an ill-shaped peaked hat upon 
the back of his head, his eyes were bright and jolly, 
and he wore a genial smile. His blouse was of a 
peculiar antique pattern. He wore breeches which 


60 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


came to his knees and were tied over his black stock- 
ings by yellow ribbons. On his feet were clumsy 
shoes with peaked toes. 

“I stared at him in blank amazement, while he, 
grasping with both hands the root on which he was 
sitting, swung his legs to and fro cracking his feet to- 
gether, and he smiled at me as if much amused. 

“So astonished was I that I wholly neglected to 
answer the little man’s question. He repeated it, 
and I stammered out something, I hardly know 
what. 

“ ‘ Come, cheer up,’ said the little man, ‘ no danger at 
all ! Didn’t expect to find you in our rambles to-night. 
However, we’re glad to see you. My master and I 
have watched you many a day in the mountains and 
sometimes in yonder valley where you hunted ; and 
sir,’ said the little man jumping down from his perch, 
and tapping me familiarly on the shoulder, ‘ we are 
the best friends you have.' 

“As he said this his laughing eyes looked into 
mine with such a jolly earnestness that I was half 
inclined to believe him. Seeing my lack of entire 
confidence, he turned his face aside as if to address 
some one and said : 

“ ‘ Isn’t that so, Bones ? ’ 

“ I turned my eyes in the direction the little man 
was looking, and the sight I saw made my heart rise 
into my throat. Sitting upon a stump was a grin- 
ning, human skeleton. 

“‘That it is,’ said the skeleton as he got down 
from the stump and came toward us, ‘and we will 
prove it this very night; for, my man, you desire 
good fortune and you shall have it. Come with us 


THE SKELETON IN ACTION. 


61 


and we will teach you a trade which will bring you 
more in a year than gold-digging will in a lifetime.’ 

“ So saying, the skeleton started down the hill, his 
bones rattling as he went. The little man, of whom 
I now felt less fear, having seen his more terrible 
master, took me by the arm, and together we de- 
scended. Down we went, clinging to trees and bushes, 
following Bones, the skeleton. 

“ Soon we came to the bottom of the hill, then fol- 
lowing a path tor some distance, we came to a pool 
in the deep woods. Only a few rays of moonlight 
came through the foliage. In the middle of the pool, 
which was not protected by overhanging boughs, 
there was a small patch of brightness, and near one 
bank the shadows of the leaves above fell upon the 
dark water, giving it the appearance of delicate 
tapestry. 

“ By the water’s edge sat a quaint woman whom 1 
took to be the wife of my conductor. It was quite 
dark where she sat, and I could not see her features, 
but from the pleasant way in which she spoke to us, 
I knew she smiled. 

“ ‘ Ah, Bones and Kerro,’ she said, ‘ 1 see you have 
brought our friend. If only the wind remain at rest, 
what liquid wealth we will show him ! ’ 

“ Kerro answered her pleasantly and motioned to 
me to be seated on a log near by. Mumbling some 
unintelligible sounds, he drew a circle on the ground 
with a crooked stick, and went through some pe- 
culiar antics with his face toward the moon, which he 
seemed to worship. When this was done he led me 
to Bones, who was leaning against a tree whose bare 
roots projected out over the water. From a cavity 


62 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


in the tree, Bones drew a spade and a pick-ax, which, 
when he had thrust them into my hands, I recognized 
as the ones I had lost a month before. 

“ ‘ Now,’ said he, ‘ dig in the charmed circle ; there 
is wealth in the earth besides gold and silver.’ 

“Wondering much at these queer people and their 
strange actions, I took the tools and began throwing 
up the earth lustily. Bones and Kerro kept up a 
conversation of so strange and wild a nature, so filled 
with accounts of awful deeds by supernatural beings, 
that I worked harder, hoping thereby to distract my 
attention from their horrifying talk. But this soon 
exhausted me, and several times I paused to rest. 
Then my new friends, for such 1 hoped them to be, 
would cast anxious glances up through the leaves, at 
the moon. Bones and Kerro would cease their con- 
versation, and nervously pace to and fro in silence. 
The woman too would cast pebbles into the pool with 
angry jerks ; but the minute I began work again, 
they immediately became at ease. 

“ 1 had worked about two hours and had buried 
myself to the neck when suddenly the bright spot on 
the centre of the pool and the tapestry on the farther 
side, faded away. I looked up, and through the 
leaves saw clouds floating across the moon. A storm 
was approaching. The expressions of anxiety on the 
faces of my friends deepened into those of alarm. 
There came a distant roaring in the trees; Kerro 
hastily approached the place where I was digging, 
knelt down, and said : 

“ * The coming storm will drive us away, for wc 
are not creatures that love thunder and lightning. 
Your work is fruitless; we will come again in ’ 


THE SKELETON IN ACTION. 


0.1 


“ The sentence was interrupted by the storm which 
had come so suddenly. At the first peal of thunder, 
utter terror seized the little man and his wife, and 
they sped away, I knew not whither ; the skeleton 
they dragged with them. I heard his bones rat- 
tling ” 

Hezekiah Roseberry, bridle thy tongue,” said a 
severe voice. 

All turned to the hall-door from which the sound 
caine. Standing there in the door-way, her hands 
crossed before her, the corners of her mouth drawn 
down, the very picture of primness, stood Mr. Rose- 
berry’s sister, Bob’s great-aunt and the only mother 
he had. Familiar with the house, she had come in 
the back door, and caused the interruption above 
recorded. 

“ Robert, come home,” she further remarked as she 
swept out of the room. 

The clock on the mantel, with much noise and 
clatter of turning wheels and descending weights, 
struck twelve. The boys departed, each meditating 
in his own way on his host’s story. 

Ah, Or’gon Roseberry! that story got you into 
trouble. 


64 


A CLOVE RD ALE SKELETON. 


CHAPTER VII. 

ROCKY BRANCH HOLLOW. 

Rocky Branch Hollow is a little narrow ravine, 
winding down in numerous curves between the hills 
north of Cloverdale. Beside the stream which finds 
a path through it, runs a well-travelled turnpike. 
The beautiful scenery along this road makes it a 
favorite route for pleasure-seeking pedestrians. On 
any pleasant day in the early summer or in the 
autumn, gay couples may be seen walking along 
the winding road, or resting on the wooded hill- 
sides. 

Thither, a few days after the evening spent at 
Roseberry’s, Bob and Reba had gone for a stroll. It 
happened that they often found themselves together 
alone. On this day, wearied with walking, they had 
climbed up one side of the ravine and seated them- 
selves on a shelving rock, shaded by dense woods. 

No more beautiful place for a rest and a talk could 
have been desired. The shelving rock was partly 
covered with moss, and here and there were little 
hollows where the water stood when it rained. 
Around them were beeches, oaks and elms, while 
half-way down the hill and to the right were crab- 
apple and haw trees, from whose blossoms came the 
most delicious odors. Below, at the foot of the decliv- 


ROCKY BRANCH HOLLOW. 65 

ity was an old decayed rail fence, almost concealed by 
the brier bushes, and rotten logs lying about. At one 
place, a tree which had fallen many years before crash- 
ing through the slender rails, remained undisturbed 
and was mouldering into dust. 

Through the foliage of the trees below them they 
could see across the little ravine to the wooded hill- 
side beyond. Between, the road wound in graceful 
curves, its white dust visible here and there through 
the leaves. Down in front of them it crossed a wooden 
bridge. To the right it skirted the stream ; and 
flanked by a low stone wall, disappeared around the 
hill. On the hill-sides and along the edges of the 
branch grew the yellow poppies, the phlox, violets, 
blue and yellow, and about the loose ledges of stone 
and by the decayed logs the night-shade bloomed. 
Reba’s and Bob’s conversation was not the only sound 
heard in the woods ; for behind them a jay was 
screeching, and a red bird flitted noiselessly in and 
out among the trees as if afraid of being seen, utter- 
ing occasionally his musical song. A noisy wagon- 
load of country people, from Bean Bloom, passed 
along the road. A chipmunk was calling in his sharp 
squeaky voice to his mate across the ravine ; while 
through all was heard the soft murmur of Rocky 
Branch’s waters as they glided over its hundred little 
falls and ripples. 

“ Yes, Bob,” said Reba, in reply to a question, “ that 
is what I have been thinking about lately, and it has 
made me feel very bad. I think about it constantly. 
I try not to, but it will force itself into my mind. 
Father is the best of fathers, but for his one fault; 
and I realize now what I never did before — that his 


(j(j A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

story-telling brings him into the disrespect of the 
town. The people laugh at him, and Bob, I can’t — 
bear it.” 

Reba’s lip quivered. She was one of those who 
brood silently over care, unless there is a sympathetic 
soul, to confide in whom is a relief. Bob was the 
only one who had ever sympathized with her, and 
even to him she was silent until he questioned her 
as to the cause of her sorrowful looks, recently. Then 
she told him all. 

“ It is not like it was when I was small,” she con- 
tinued. “ Then when the boys teased me about 
father’s improbable stories, you protected me — I 
always will love you, Bob, for whipping some of those 
little ruffians for me. It made me very angry then, 
but things have changed now. No one has the im- 
politeness to taunt me with father’s fault, but occa- 
sionally I overhear something that shows me how 
he is regarded. Do you remember the conversation 
you had with Sally a week ago ? I heard it all — 
accidentally. You didn’t know I was so near, and I 
couldn’t help hearing. Don’t you think it made me 
feel bad? Then you remember what Stanley Griggs 
said when he threw the rock? Oh, Bob, if you could 
only help me now as you once did 1 You remember, 
Bob, don’t you, how you used to protect me ? ” 

Bob did remember. He had every reason to remem- 
ber. Many a little battle had he fought to save Reba 
from the taunting boys. They seemed to have no 
mercy. “Here, Becky,” some one would say, crack- 
ing an old joke, “ take this apple and show it to yer 
dad — he never saw one littler’n a tub.” 

Although, in defence of Reba, Bob had more than 


ROCKY BRANCH HOLLOW. 


67 


once been whipped, the boys gradually came to 
have respect for his pluck, as well as fear for his fists, 
and the taunts finally ceased. But, as Reba said, 
things had changed. His fists could no longer pre* 
vent her being made aware of her father’s fault. It 
was not now a childish anger, but a strong, persistent 
sorrow, such as cannot be felt by the child, but by 
the woman. Reba was rapidly becoming a woman ; 
and, as this maturity came, the careless thoughts and 
happy laughter of childhood were left behind. Sad 
is the lot of the girl, who, in the first moments of 
sober thought and keener sensibilities, finds some' 
thing awry in her surroundings. 

“ But why should you worry over this thing, 
Reba?” said her friend. “Your father means no 
harm by his stories, and I know no one was ever 
injured by them.” 

“ Why ? That is a strange question for you, Bob, 
who have known me so long. Don’t you know that 
I can see I am not situated as other girls are? I 
am looked upon as the daughter of a curiosity — a 
clown. I cannot speak with pride of my father, as 
other girls do of theirs, for fear some one will laugh, 
thinking of his absurd stories. What is a girl to do 
when she dare not speak of her father for fear some 
one will smile ? ” 

“ Why don’t you go to him about it ? ” 

“ Speak to him about it? Oh, I — I can’t. Didn’t 
mother try that before she died? and haven’t the 
church members done the same thing? and didn’t 
Aunt Deborah that night he told that horrid thing 
about a skeleton ? ” 

“That story was all right, Reba. Many stories 


68 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


like that are written to-day, and there is nothing 
wrong about them, because the writers do not expect 
any one to believe them.” 

“But you forget: if he did not tell such tales as 
that about the skeleton, he would not tell such things 
as that about the spider and the butter, and the rest 
— the one leads to the other. None of them are true, 
and they are all so ridiculous that it gives father a 
bad name. I used to think that they were funny, 
too, when I was small ; but I am — older, now.” 

Bob did not reply. He deeply sympathized with 
Iteba, but knew neither what to do nor say ; so he 
watched the shadows of the trees on the opposite 
hillside creep across the ravine, and slowly ascend to 
the shelving rock. Reba folded her hands and gazed 
up at the sky. It was a habit she had when she was 
thinking. After a while she said, as if meditating 
aloud : 

“ I have often thought, lately, that if something 
would only happen — something awful, something ter- 
rible — to make father see how wrong his story-telling 
is, he would stop it. But when will anything hap- 
pen? What could happen? Begging him will do 
no good, because he only laughs at it. Unless some- 
thing happens, he will go on, and on, as long as he 
lives.” 

Not until the ravine was deep in the shadow did 
either notice that it was time to go. Then, by cling- 
ing to bushes and rocks, they descended; walked 
along the old log that had crushed the fence in its 
fall, leaped out into the road, and started toward the 
town. 

That evening Babe and Wib were sitting by the 


ROCKY BRANCH HOLLOW. 


69 


roadside on Roseberry’s hill. Tlie latter proved him- 
self a disciple of Simon Peter, by saying to his com- 
panion : 

“I am going fishing to-morrow; come and go 
along.” 

“ Can’t. I have to go out to the farm.*' 

“ Do you have to go ? ” 

“ Well, I ought to.'’ 

“ Now, see here,” said Wib ; “ I’ll tell you what 
I’ll do. I’ll throw up a nickel, and if it comes ‘tails * 
up, you go to the farm ; but if it comes ‘ heads ’ up 
you go with me.” 

“ All right ; toss the nickel,” said Babe. 

Wib tossed, and it lit “ tails ” up. 

“ Well, that means I go to the farm,” said Babe. 

“ No, it don’t, either.” 

“ Why, it lit ‘ tails ’ up, didn’t it ? ” 

“ Of course it did ; but didn’t you ever hear that 
old saying — ‘ If at first you don’t succeed, try, try 
again ? ’ ” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, here goes for another toss, then,” and Wib 
again threw the nickel spinning into the air. It lit, 
and the boys bent over it.” 

“Confound it!” said Wib, “that’s bad luck. 
Here, toss it yourself.” 

Babe took the coin, and, smiling at the mock-seri- 
ous expression on Wib’s face, he made the toss. 

“Luck — good luck,” said Wib, bending over it 
when it had reached the ground. “ ‘ Heads ’ it is, 
and we’ll have a time. Now we’ll go over and get 
Bob to go.” 

“ No need of that, for here he comes.” 


70 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


“ Where ? ” 

“ Down the road about half a mile — with Becky.” 

Reba and Bob were coming slowly along the road, 
unaware that they were the subject of a conversa- 
tion on the hill. 

“ Do you know, Wib,” said Babe, after looking at 
them some minutes, “ that I sometimes think that 
Bob thinks the world and all of Becky ? ” 

“ How do you know ? ” Wib inquired. 

“Well, I don’t know why, but I know it, all the 
same.” 

“ You can’t know without knowing why.” 

“ Yes, I can. Once father and I were riding along 
in the buggy in the river bottoms. The sand was 
deep, and the old sorrel mare was doing her best to 
get us through it. Ahead of us was a couple, walk- 
ing alongside of the road. The girl was carrying a 
heavy basket, and the country-jake with her didn’t 
hare sense enough to carry it for her. He didn’t 
look up as we went by. When we had passed, father 
asked me if I had noticed them, and he said, ‘ the 
young man is in love with the girl.’ ‘ How do you 
know? ’ said I. ‘ I can’t tell you why,’ he said, ‘ but 
there is something indescribable in his manner that 
tells me he is in love.’ Now, that is the way it is 
with me. I know that Bob is in love with Becky, 
but I can’t tell why.” 

Bob let Reba in the side gate and came up the hill. 
He was immediately invited to go fishing. 

“ Of course, I’ll go,” he said. “ Sally told me the 
bass were biting good out at the mill and that the 
boys had been looking out for us for some time.” 


ROCKY BRANCH HOLLOW. 71 

“All right,” said Wib, “ we’ll get up at five, hitch 
up old John and ” 

“ I can’t go that early,” Bob objected, “ I have to 
take the cow to the pasture about seven ; but may- 
be I can get the girl to milk earlier, at six, say.” 

“ Oh, don’t take the cow to the pasture,” said 
Wib, impatiently. “ It’s too blamed far for her to 
walk so early in the morning, anyhow. The fish bite 
best between five and six, and we want to be there.” 

Bob smiled and said he would get one of a 
neighbor’s boys to attend to the cow. 

The next morning, before it was light, two forms 
emerged from the back doors of two houses on Rose- 
berry’s hill, and hurried over to Wib’s stable. Each 
had a cane pole over his shoulder. Wib had old 
John hitched up, and five minutes later the spring 
wagon was rattling down the north road. 


72 


A CL0VE11DALE SKELETON". 


CHAPTER VIII. 
watson’s mill. 

“You hain’t seen nothin’ o’ no white cow round 
hyer nowhur’ hev ye? I lost one over acrost the 
ridge an’ — well, durn your ornery hide ! I wasn’t 
thinkin’ ’bout seein’ you ’round hyer. Come a-fishin’ 
did ye? An’ out bright an’ airly. Where’s the 
other boys ? ” 

Thus Samuel Watson, proprietor of Watson’s 
Mill, addressed Robert Moore as the latter was un- 
loading various sporting materials from the spring 
wagon on the bank of Bean Bloom. Bob returned the 
greeting in a cordial style, and, in reply to the ques- 
tion, pointed to Wib and Babe who were returning 
from a shed near by, where they had hitched old J ohn. 
Sam was glad to see them, saying he had been look- 
ing for them for some time. 

“Yes, Sally told us you expected us and that the 
fishing was good,” said Bob. 

“Well, fishin’ ain’t nigh ez good now ez it was a 
leetle airlier. Still you kin ketch some this airly 
in the mornin’ an’ late in the evenin.’ Bass won’t 
bite ’long in the heat o’ the day, so if you want to 
shoot any ’bout then, ye kin hev my ole army 
musket t’ amuse yerselves with. They’s some med- 
der larks over in the field hyer. They’s purty good 
shootin’, and good eatin’, too. Hev ye got any min- 
ners?” 


WATSON'S MILL. 73 

“Yes, down there in the bucket,” said Babe, who 
was busy getting a line ready. 

“ Whur’ did ye git ’em ? ” 

“ Rocky Branch.” 

Sam stooped down at the water’s edge and lifted 
up the perforated tin bucket which held the min- 
nows. 

“Them’s a fine lot,” he said. “If ye don’t hev 
no luck it won’t be because ye hain’t got no minners. 
Now, I’ll tell ye,” Sam continued, standing up, “the 
best place fer you fellers to fish is fer one of ye to 
stand hyer on this end of the dam, ’nother on that 
log stickin’ out in the water, an’ t’other t’ go an’ set 
over tliar in the mill door. That’s purty high up, 
but it’s a fust rate place t’ fish from. I wud a-had 
the mill opened afore this, but the old white cow 
got out las’ night an’ I been a-racin’ all over these 
bottoms a-huntin’ fer her. We sold her calf t’other 
day an’ she’s mighty nigh crazy ’bout it.” 

Babe, who was an expert fisherman, appropriated 
the log below the dam to his own use. He threw 
his line into the swift water and before the other 
boys had baited their hooks, had a fine bass flounder- 
ing on the bank. Wib cast his line from the end of 
the dam, while Bob, crossing to the other side of the 
bridge above, entered the mill with Sam, and threw 
his line from the door, several feet above the water. 
He was kept busy for some time answering various 
questions propounded by Sam, particularly as to how 
“ Sail ” was “ a-gittin’ along,” but he was finally left 
alone to fish in quiet. 

The water thundered over the clam, the mill 
ground a little occasionally through the long hours 


74 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

of the early morning and the boys fished on in 
silence. Now and then Babe or Wib would land a 
fish and hold it up for inspection, but Bob’s luck was 
not so good. Several times he motioned to one of 
his companions to throw a minnow across to him, 
but they were either stolen from his hook by “bait- 
stealers,” or torn away by the current, for not one of 
them ensnared a bass. Still Bob fished on mechan- 
ically. 

Late in the afternoon Wib and Babe came out of 
the woods on the side of the stream opposite the 
mill, and walked down to the water. One of them 
carried a musket, and the other a dead squirrel. 
They stopped and looked over at the mill. 

“ Well, look there, will you? ” said Wib, “there’s 
Bob, sitting in that door with his back against those 
meal-sacks, just where we left him this morning and 
I’ll bet a blue horse with a yellow tail that he hasn’t 
stirred. I never knew he had so much patience. 
He hadn’t caught a thing when we left, and if he’s 
been fishing in that still water all the time, he hasn’t 
caught any since.” 

“ I have been noticing Bob all day,” answered 
Babe, “and I have come to the conclusion that there 
is something on his mind. He has been sitting there 
all day, fishing, but taking no interest in it. There ! 
see him raise up his line, and not a bit of bait on the 
hook, but back it goes into the water again.” 

“ He doesn’t even see us.” 

“No; he looks down at the water all the time. 
It’s a bad case — something on his mind. And do 
you know I’ve thought — ” 

“ What?” 


WAT SOM'S MILL. 


75 


“ Do you remember what I spoke to you about yes- 
terday ? ” 

“ Now, I wonder ! Do you think he has it that 
bad?” 

“I don’t know what else it can be.” 

There appeared on Wib’s face what Mr. Ransom 
Middleton would have called a “ sa’donic smile.” 

“ Let’s go over, Babe, and talk to him, maybe we 
can find out something.” 

All day long Bob had sat in the dusty mill, listen- 
ing to the music of the water, and the rumbling of 
the turbine wheel. His cork floated on the water 
below him. Occasionally it got into a little whirl- 
pool, where it would twirl and twist ; and then with a 
flake of foam upon it, the current would draw it to 
the sheets of falling water ; driven beneath the sur- 
face then and carried down stream, it would bob up 
again and be pulled into the still water, to repeat the 
same operation. 

All day long Bob’s mind had been as busy on one 
topic as the cork on his fishing line had been in going 
through the above-mentioned routine. Nor had his 
deliberations been much more productive of results ; 
for he had not arrived at a complete solution of the 
problem he was trying to solve. He had been think- 
ing of Reba’s words, “ If something would only hap- 
pen.” He knew that her sadness was not a thing of a 
moment, a cloud that would disappear in the first 
ray of sunshine, and therefore to make her again 
herself, something must happen. Persuasion had 
been tried on her erring old father, but it had failed. 
It was plain that if something would accidentally hap- 
pen to cause him to see the folly of his ways, and the 


76 


A CLOVEEDALE SKELETON. 


sorrow it caused his daughter, he would have the 
good sense to do better. To make something happen 
was what Bob was pondering. He had helped Reba 
in the past, why shouldn’t he in the future ? True, 
she had not asked for his assistance ; but it would be 
more appreciated, if successful, on that account. 

In turning the matter over in his mind, Bob natu- 
rally recalled the story of the skeleton which Mr. 
Roseberry had told. The circumstances which led 
to the telling of that story were peculiar. Stanley 
Griggs and little Joe had evidently heard Reba tell 
him that there was a skeleton in her closet. This 
explained the mysterious entrance of Stanley on that 
night. Bob and Reba had thought of it at the time, 
but under the circumstances could not explain, al- 
though the others were puzzling their brains for a 
solution to the mystery. Seeing Stanley suggested to 
Joe what he had heard in the arbor the day before, 
and he asked of his father the question which led to 
the relation of the story about the skeleton. No doubt 
little Joe knew what Stanley was after, but being in- 
terested in finding out what a skeleton was, and in 
the story that followed, he forgot to say anything 
about it. Bob thought that if Mr. Roseberry could 
know these circumstances it would have some effect — 
at least make him somewhat ashamed ; but he knew 
the effect would not be permanent, so he abandoned 
a plan he had half formed to let him know of them, as 
worthless. 

There was one thing about the story of the skeleton 
that Bob thought no one had noticed but himself. 
The little old woman had said the wealth that Mr. 
Roseberry was to receive was to be a liquid. This 


WA T SON’S MILL. 


77 


was mentioned but once in the telling and did not at- 
tract attention. Bob happened to think that Mr. 
Roseberry had a mania for boring for oil. He 
thoroughly believed that this valuable liquid could 
be obtained by boring on Cloverdale ground; and on 
several occasions had tried to form a company to 
put down a well, urging it as a way to stimulate 
the business enterprise of the town. Many people 
were skeptical on the question, and Mr. Roseberry’s 
efforts were fruitless. Some said he was a fool on 
this subject as well as on a certain other. Neverthe- 
less he stoutly asserted that oil could be found under 
Cloverdale. Knowing this, and also Mr. Roseberry’s 
habit of spending his idle — and indeed many of his 
busy — moments in dreaming, Bob came to the very 
logical conclusion that oil was the “ liquid wealth” re- 
ferred to in the story of the skeleton, and that this 
story was one which had been pondered over often, 
and consequently had made a lasting impression upon 
the relator’s mind. Based upon these, Bob had framed 
a very vague plan to make something “ happen.” 
He was amused and serious by turns as he thought 
it over. He could not complete it. In spite of his 
thinking about it all day, it was still vague and un- 
satisfactory. 

The sun had gone down behind the ridge to the 
west, and the mill was in the shadow. In the little 
whirlpools, and in the eddies, the cork on Bob’s line 
still whirled ; but he, tired with long thought, had 
leaned back against the meal sacks and had fallen 
asleep. Suddenly he was greatly startled by hearing 
a loud voice cry out : 

“ Wake up ; your hook’s under.” 


78 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

As Bob involuntarily grasped the cane pole and 
gave it an emphatic jerk, only to see a bare hook 
dangling over the water, a derisive peal of laughter, 
long and loud, burst from behind a bin. Bob turned 
with a chagrined and disappointed look on his face, 
and saw Wib and Babe roaring with laughter. 

“ You bite better than the bass,” Babe said between 
two paroxysms of merriment. 

Bob muttered something about people who cracked 
old jokes, and he wound his line around the pole, and 
threw it, as one would a javelin, across the creek. 
Then he braced his feet against the door-post, leaned 
back against the meal-sacks, pulled his hat down over 
his eyes, and was silent. 

The mirth of his companions soon subsided and 
they threw themselves beside him on the meal-sacks. 
By soft words Babe endeavored to persuade Bob to 
tell why he had been so quiet all day — in short, what 
he had been thinking about so steadily. 

“ Ah, yes ; Bobby, dear one,” said Wib, clasping 
his hands and rolling his eyes in dramatic style, “ we 
fain would know what preys upon thy mind. Can’st 
tell us ? ” 

Bob uncovered his head, straightened up, and 
looked calmly down at the water, ignoring Wib’s 
frivolity in so dignified a manner that that young 
gentleman did not continue it. 

“ I have been thinking,” Bob said, after a moment 
of silence, “of something I would like to do and 
I have been counting on your help.” 

“ What is it ? ” Babe asked. 

“It is something which will be hard to do. In 


WATSON' 8 MILL. 


79 


fact I don’t know how it is to be done, but with your 
help, perhaps it can be.” 

“ What is it ? ” Babe asked again. 

“ It is this : to make Hezekiah Roseberry stop ly- 
ing.” 

“ Great Caesar 1 ” said Babe. 

Wib, looked astonished. 

“ Will you help ? ” Bob asked, looking at him. 

“ Let me see ! ” said Wib slowly, counting on his 
fingers. “ There’s ‘ Baron Munchausen ’ ; the kitten 
tore it to pieces. There’s ‘Gulliver’s Travels’; 
loaned and never returned. There’s 1 The Gambler’, 
Revenge ; or Who Opened the Jack-pot’; mother 
threw it in the fire. No, no, Bob, I can’t do it. 1 
must have a little fiction once in a while, and Or’gon 
Roseberry’s is all there is left I ” 

Bob immediately got so angry that Wib drew back 
surprised, muttering : 

“ Great Scissors I what a tail our cat’s got ! * 

“ Yes,” said Bob with vehemence,” you want 
something to laugh at. You don’t think that while 
you are laughing at those improbable tales somebody 
else may be crying. How would you like to be in 
Reba’s place, and know that your father was the 
laughing-stock of the town ? ” 

“ O ! that’s the idea, is it ? ” Wib mused. 

“ That’s the idea exactly. Reba has some feeling 
in this matter; and if she had talked to you as she 
has talked to me, you would be in for any sort 
of a scheme to stop her father’s bad habit. Why, just 
look at it. It is funny enough sometimes, but it 
saddened his wife’s life and is going to do the same 
with Reba’s if it isn’t stopped ; it was the cause of 


80 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

him leaving the church, and has made him less 
respected by every one. Now, it may be that we 
can’t do what I’ve been thinking of, and it may be 
that if we do, it will be pretty hard on Mr. Rose- 
berry, but for — for Reba’s sake I want you to help 
me.” 

“ It is a pity for your pretty little cousin to be cry- 
ing her eyes out over the old man’s fun,” Wib said, 
thoughtfully, and then he added with sudden in- 
terest, “ What did you say about a scheme ? ” 

“ A scheme ? Well it’s just this way : we can’t do 
anything by talking ; that’s been tried. If we do 
anything at all, it has to be done by a trick. A 
scheme of some sort is the only thing that will 
work.” 

“ If it is a scheme,” said Wib, “ you know Babe 
and I can be counted on ; especially if there is any 
fun to be had in working it. But it is a mystery to 
me to know how you are going to fix up a scheme to 
make Or’gon Roseberry quit lying.” 

“ That is what I have been thinking about all day 
but I can’t get it quite clear in my mind. I will tell 
you what I have been thinking about, and maybe one 
of you can help me out. 

“ You know,” he continued after having paused to 
collect his thoughts, “ the story he told us about the 
skeleton. Of course, no such thing ever happened. 
He would have been frightened half to death if it 
had. What he told us was only what he has been 
dreaming about all these years. Now the liquid 
treasure he spoke of was, I believe, nothing more than 
coal-oil. He is always trying to get up a company 
to bore for oil, you know. When Kerro left in the 


WATSON' 8 MILL. 


81 


storm, he said something about meeting him again, 
but he didn’t say when. Now suppose we should find 
some way to dress up like the figures Mr. Roseberry 
spoke of, and meet him some dark night in the woods 
by the little pond, suppose we should make him dig 
for his liquid treasure, night after night, and when 
he had dug a few feet pour oil into the hole to raise 
his expectations, and finally, without revealing who 
we are, show him he is being made sport of and tell 
him we will tell every one what a fool we have made 
of him unless he promises to quit telling those out- 
landish stories ; don’t you think it would have the 
desired effect? ” 

Both boys smiled in pleasant anticipation of the 
adventure. 

“ 1 believe it would,” continued Bob, “ for ii there 
is anything Or’gon Roseberry hates, it is being 
laughed at. He even gets mad when people laugh 
at his stories — that is, the kind he told us that night. 
Now if we play this joke on him, he would know 
that the men would never get done laughing at him 
if they should find it out. He would do anything to 
get us not to tell ; but we will only tell him that the 
secret is safe as long as he don’t tell any more 
stories. Don’t you see how it will all work out? 
Why we can put a quietus on his nonsense. Of 
course we will have to disguise our voices and paint 
our faces so he can’t possibly know us ; for if he don’t 
know who duped him, he will be afraid to break his 
promise even if he should want to, for fear he might 
be talking to one who helped play the joke on him.” 

The plan was heartily approved by both boys, but 
upon Babe’s face there was an expression of doubt. 


82 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

“ No doubt that is a very fine scheme,” said he, 
“ and I can help by getting the disguises to repre- 
sent the little man — what’s his name ? Kerro ? — 
and his wife, but where are you going to get the 
skeleton, and how are you going to make it walk and 
talk?” 

“ That is what I have been studying about all 
day,” Bob answered, looking down at the water, 
“ and I can’t make it out.” 

The boys were silent in thought. Bob had been 
unable to solve the problem, and to his companions 
he looked for help. To Babe’s mind the query had 
presented itself, but he saw no answer to it. He 
looked to Wib for a solution. Wib was always to 
be depended upon in an emergency. He had a way 
of knowing so many little things that no one else 
would think of remembering and of using them to 
advantage. In this case his resources were as unfail- 
ing as ever. Leaning over and tapping Bob on the 
breast with his forefinger, winking the while, he said : 

“ You want a skeleton? Leave it to me.” 

“ Are you sure you can get one ? ” 

“ Sure ? I’ll get one if I have to let you have my 
own.” 

“ But where will you get it ? ” 

“ Leave it to me. Leave it to me.” 

“ Confound it ! ” said Bob impatiently, “ I’ve been 
puzzling my brains over this thing all day, and if you 
have an idea I want to know what it is.” 

“ Well, so long as I don’t intend to tell you just 
at this time,” replied Wib, who liked to have his own 
way, “ I don’t see how you are going to find out. 
It’s getting late and we must be going home. That 


WATSON'S MILL. 


83 


precious cow of yours must be brought from the 
pasture, and Babe and I have to clean our fish for 
breakfast. Sorry you did’nt get any. Come on,” 
and in a few minutes the spring wagon was rattling 
on its way back to Cloverdale. 


84 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


CHAPTER IX. 

WIB AS A FLATTERER, AND MIDDLETON AS A POET. 

The next afternoon, dressed in his handsomest 
manner, Wib Morgan stood in the door-way of Todd’s 
drug-store. He had been on the look-out for Ransom 
Middleton, and now that elegant gentleman was in 
the store talking with Mr. Todd. From a part of 
the conversation that Wib allowed to stray into his 
ear he learned that Mr. Middleton would shortly go 
down to the “ Med ” to work in the laboratory. As 
Wib desired a conversation with him, he started 
slowly down the avenue. He had gotten about half 
way to the college when Middleton overtook him. 

“ Good-afternoon, Mr. Middleton,” said Wib. 

“Ah! good-afternoon, sir. Are you out for a 
walk?” 

“ Yes, I thought I would stroll around the campus 
awhile and think of the time when I too shall be a 
student of medicine.” 

“You aspiah then to be a physician?” Middleton 
asked. 

“ It is the noblest of professions.” 

“ Why so?” 

“ Because a physician can do so much good. Why 
should you remain in this dull town after the term is 
over, when you might be enjoying yourself in your 
native city, if it is not to learn better how to relieve 
the sufferings of diseased humanity ? ” 


WIB AS A FLATTERER. 


85 


“ A fine sentiment, my man ; but how do you 
know that I am going to remain in Clovahdale after 
the term is over ? ” 

“ How do I know ? Oh, every one knows that. 
You few — very few — more popular students can’t 
turn your hands over without all Cloverdale knowing 
it. The town is so small, you know. However, 
there are a still fewer number of you who would be 
quite as well known in a much larger place.” 

Mr. Middleton held his head a trifle higher. 

“ Then am I,” he modestly inquired, “ pretty well 
known in town ? ” 

“ Oh, very well, indeed ! How could it be other- 
wise, Mr. Middleton?” 

“ What peculiar qualities of mine rendah me con- 
spicuous, Mr. ah, yes, rendah me conspicuous?” 

“Your well-known ability, Mr. Middleton; and 
your commanding bearing. The latter is especially 
attractive to the young ladies.” 

“ Indeed ! You flatter me ! ” 

“ Not greatly, Mr. Middleton. Consider the small- 
ness of the town, and that the people are not used to 
having cultivated city gentlemen among them.” 

“ The town is small,” said Middleton, at loss for 
words, “ and hard to reach.” 

“ Exactly,” said Wib, “ only one railroad, and 

that one appears very unaccommodating.” 

“ They won’t even give us students reduced rates.” 

“No,” said Wib, “but it is just as Mr. Roseberry 
says: if they begin it they never can stop; for there 
are four colleges along the road and a penitentiary 
at each end.” 

“ Mr. Roseberry — ,” said Middleton, his interest, 


86 


A CLOVEEDALE SKELETON. 


which had somewhat abated when he was no longer 

the subject of conversation, now reviving “you 

know Mr. Roseberry then? He is the gentleman 
who tells who has a vivid imagination.” 

“ He is the one.” 

“ Do you know his daughtah ? ” 

“ Oh, yes. She is a beautiful girl.” 

“ I have thought so myself. Has she many ad- 
mirers ? ” 

“ Yes, but she has a favorite.” 

“ And. who is that ? ” 

“ His name is Bob Moore.’' 

Mr. Middleton sighed. He opened the campus 
gate and let Wib pass in before him. 

“ This Bob Moore,” Wib continued, “ is a cousin 
of Reba’s. Not a first cousin, but as a friend of mine 
expressed it, ‘a sort of deputy-cousin -in-law.’” 

Mr. Middleton’s spirits were suddenly at a low ebb. 

“Why, Mr. Middleton, you look sad,” said Wib 
solemnly, but with an inward chuckle. 

“ Why should I not? Why should I not? ” 

“ Can it be possible that you, too, admire her? ” 

“ What a good guesser you are,” said Mr. Mid- 
dleton with an attempt at a smile. 

“ Then, alas, poor Robert ! He is an excellent fel- 
low, Mr. Middleton, and what would he do if Reba 
should fall in love with another? ” 

Mr. Middleton was making a mistake incident to 
his peculiar style of mind — that of confiding too 
readily in a stranger, and a stranger with sharp wits 
and an ax to grind. 

“ What ? ” said he, “ Have I a chance when he is 
in her good graces?” 


win AS A FLATTERER. 


87 


“ That is not the question, Mr. Middleton. It is 
will he have a chance when you are in the race ? 
Poor Bob ! ” 

Mr. Middleton’s head went up into the air again. 

They had come to the west wing of the “Med,” 
and, motioning Wib to enter and wait a moment for 
him, Mr. Middleton tripped over to the central en- 
trance where the janitor stood. Pointing over his 
shoulder with his thumb he asked : 

“ Who is this young fellow that came up the walk 
with me ? ” 

“That’s Wib Morgan, son of the old colonel, and 
a sharp young chap he is.” 

Mr. Middleton tripped back to Wib. 

“ Now, Morgan,” lie said, “ come up to the labor- 
atory with me. 

The two ascended to the second story and entered 
a long room with a hood at one end, and rows of 
desks fitted with gas and water-pipes, with shelves 
above on which stood labelled bottles. Having 
taken off his coat and put on a chemical-stained 
apron, Mr. Middleton began to dally idly with the 
chemicals, test tubes and beakers. He was wonder- 
ing how successfully he could carry on a flirtation 
with Reba through the boy before him, and the boy, 
knowing that his fish was about to take bait, hook 
and all in one ravenous bite, remained silent. Wib 
was more than a boy. He still had many of the 
tastes and manners of his childhood, but he could at 
pleasure put on the air of a man, and so Middleton 
was beguiled into further confidence and his own 
destruction. 

“ Mr. Morgan,” said Middleton, after gazing a long 


88 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

time at the contents of a flask he held in his hand, 
“does Miss Roseberry ever — that is, did you ever 
hear her — eh — mention my name ? ” 

“ Mention your name ? Yes, once.” 

“When? Tell me” 

“ But a short time ago. It was on a warm evening 
and she was standing by the porch with Bob and me. 
She was dressed in white and was unusually lovely.” 

“ But what did she say about me ? ” 

“Oh, yes. Well, you passed down the avenue and 
she said to us, ‘Mr. Middleton is a fine looking 
young man.’ ‘ Han’some Ransom,’ she called you. 
How’s that? ” 

If Mr. Middleton had had any penetration at all 
he would have seen that Wib was playing with him, 
for that kind of a remark was not Reba’s style. 

“ Was that all? Could you learn from her words 
or tone whether I had a place in her thoughts ? 

“ Let me see,” said Wib with another inward 
chuckle. “Now 1 remember there was a certain 
dreamy expression in her eyes when she spoke of you.” 

“ The same,” thought Middleton. “ I have seen it 
a score of times when I have met her on the street. 
I thought I could not have mistaken it for the idle 
glance of a coquette.” Then aloud, “ Were you 
ever smitten, my boy ? ” 

“Well, I’ve been pretty hard hit sometimes. It’s 
tough on a fellow.” 

“ Yes, and don’t you think it’s rather tough on 
me when I can never even see her ? You know, the 
old man wouldn’t think of letting me come to the 
house. And if she has any feelings in the matter it’s 
tough on her, too.” 


Win AS A FLATTERER. 


89 


“I’ve noticed that she is rather sad and pale of 
late.” 

“ Sad ? Pale ? Since when ? ” 

“ Oh, quite recently.” 

“ I wonder if it can be,” murmured Mr. Middleton, 
and he hesitated, trembling lest he should go too 
far in his confidence. But his hesitations were 
vain. Silly fellow I He would have gone to any 
length. 

“ Morgan,” he said, “ I — I suppose you never write 
verses to — to your — ” 

“No, no,” said Wib eagerly, smiling as if greatly 
pleased at having discovered a deep hidden secret, 
“but you do, and you’ve written some to Reba. You 
can’t fool me. Ha ! ha ! Read them to me.” 

Pleased beyond description Mr. Middleton took 
from a region, somewhere in the vicinity of his heart, 
an elaborate envelope, from which he took some 
sheets of paper, fine specimens of the stationer’s art, 
and read this gentle effusion : — 

TO BECKY. 

Sweet Becky with the deep, dark eye, 

A charming country maid 

Art thou-, a sober student I, 

And dignified and staid ; 

But when upon thy cheek the rose 
I see, such beauteous red, 

Within my musty heart there glows 
A passion I thought dead. 

I love to see thy brown arms ply 
The dasher of the churn; 

To be enclasped by them I sigh. 

My fond heart oft doth yearn 


90 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


To have such love as I bestow 
On thee, bestowed on me ; 

But then, alas ! no sign, I know, 

Of love thou’st given me. 

But in my heart a hope have I, 

Securely planted there 
By just a glance from thy deep eye, 

That constancy most rare 
Thou bast for me, and will’st it give 
When dalliance has her due. 

Till then, fair girl, on hope I’ll live, 

And be to thee most true. 

“ Beautiful ! ” said Wib, as Mr. Middleton, having 
completed the reading, looked modestly up for com- 
ment. 

“Do you think?” inquired the poet, “that it is 
good enough to send to her ? ” 

“To send to her! She would be delighted.” 

“ But how to get it to her. That is the question.” 

“Appoint me your messenger.” 

“ Will you, my dear fellow, take her my verses ? ” 

“ Certainly.” 

Mr. Middleton grasped Wib’s hand and shook it 
warmly. 

“ Take them, my boy, and give them to her,” he 
said; “on the sly, remember. Now I feel that we 
are friends. I hope some time to perform a service of 
a similar kind for you. Nothing makes better friends 
of men than a bond of sympathy like this.” 

“Very true, I think,” said Wib, and he added, 
after a moment, “ may I look at j our poem again ? ” 

“ Certainly,” Middleton answered, “ and let me 
have your criticism.” 

Wib took the verses from the envelope, and slowly 
read them over. 


Win AS A FLATTERER. 


91 


“Now, about the first part of this poem,” he said, 
at length, “ one or two things I find objectionable. 
For instance: you call her a country girl, when she 
isn’t at all ; she lives in town ; and then you call 
her Becky, when Reba is much prettier.” 

“ Oh, well, as to that, old fellow, don’t you see 
that it adds to the rustic beauty of the piece ? ” 

“ And this about her bare arms making the churn- 
dasher fly. Sally, the hired girl, does all the churn- 
ing. Besides that, Mr. Roseberry’s churn hasn’t any 
dasher ; it’s a patent thing that turns by a crank.” 

“ But, my dear boy, that is a poet’s license, don’t 
you know — to change things to suit the needs of the 
poem. We poets couldn’t think of letting the hired 
girl and the Patent Office take the romance out of 
our verses.” 

“ But truth , Mr. Middleton, truth.” 

“ Hang the truth ! I tell you a poet’s field is 
fancy. It makes no difference whether she churns 
or not, so long as she lives where churning is done ; 
so long as she is a country girl.” 

“ I told you she isn’t a country girl. She lives in 
town, and has, since she was a baby.” 

“ Still, as contrasted with city life, she is but a 
country maiden, and very innocent.” 

“Not so blamed innocent as you think,” said 
Wib, with spirit. 

“ Why will you find fault with my verses ? ” ex- 
claimed Mr. Middleton, striving hard to restrain his 
impatience. 

“ Didn’t you say you wanted me to criticise 
them?” 

“ Yes, but I didn’t think — Oh, come now ! let’s be 


92 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


in a better humor. Now, is there anything I can do 
to show my appreciation of your kindness in offering 
to deliver my verses ? Have a cigar? ” 

“No, thanks; I don’t smoke. But I’ll tell you, 
Mr. Middleton,” said Wib, reflectively, “ I have long 
desired to see the dissecting-room.” 

“ But it is against the rules to take an unprofes- 
sional gentleman in, especially without a permit, and 
there is no one here to give one.” 

“ Hang the rules ! ” said Wib. 

“ All right,” answered his companion, resignedly, 
“ as there happens to be no one about who would find 
it out. Wait until I get the key from the janitor.” 

When Mr. Middleton returned, he motioned to 
Wib, from the door, to follow him. He went up into 
the hall, and opened a door at the east end of it. Wib 
followed him in, and the door was closed behind 
them. 

The long room was darkened, but Wib saw enough 
to make him want to retreat, if he had not had an 
object in coming, more than the satisfaction of his 
curiosity. More than one of his senses was affected, 
too, as it was late in the term and he felt that he 
should quickly do what he had come for. 

“ Mr. Middleton,” he asked in a low voice, “ what 
do they do with the bones ? ” 

“ Some are taken by the students, and some are in 
here,” and Mr. Middleton led the way to a little 
private room to one side. He showed Wib an array 
of skulls on a shelf, and a pile of bones in a corner. 
“ Here,” he said, walking across the room and open- 
ing a closet door, “ is a finely mounted skeleton.” 

Hanging to a nail in the closet was the coveted 


WIB AS A FLATTERER. 


93 


treasure. Wib had no thought of seizing it upon the 
spot. He had a better plan than that. To his right 
was a door, upon which he had cast his eyes as soon 
as he had come into the room. He made a calcula- 
tion in his mind as to the relative position of certain 
parts of the building below, and being soon satisfied, 
he moved carelessly over toward the door. Watch- 
ing for a favorable opportunity he slipped the key 
noiselessly from the lock and into his pocket. That 
was all he wanted. 

“ Don’t forget about the verses,” Middleton said, 
as Wib left him at the door below. “ And if there 
should be a reply, you know where to bring it.” 

A quarter of an hour later, standing on a street 
corner on Roseberry’s Hill with Babe and Bob, Wib 
explained certain plans he had formed. 

“ Yes,” he said as they parted, “ I’m quite sure I got 
the key to the elevator shaft. We’ll lie low until 
the ‘ Med ’ is out for the term, and then we’ll make a 
raid.” 

As Wib was crossing the little narrow street back 
to his father’s barn, he stopped on one of the high 
stepping stones and took an envelope from his pocket. 
He took the neatly folded sheets of paper from it, 
and as he read over what was written thereon, he 
soliloquized thus : 

“ 4 Sober ’ — sometimes ; 4 dignified ’ — like a mon- 
key ; 4 a passion I thought dead ’ — why this young 
blood talks like he was bald-headed. He wants peo- 
ple to think he is a man of experience. That churn 
racket is simply nonsense. And for the spindle- 
shanked dude to call her a country girl ! Possibly 
he thinks she’s from Bean Bloom.” 


94 A CLOVERDALE SKELETC r . 

Wib paused a moment, held the paper at arm’s 
length and thought. The result of his deliberations 
he expressed thus : 

“ If I should give this stuff of Middleton’s to Reba, 
I’d be as big a fool as he is. Therefore ” 

Here Wib tore the elegant stationery into bits and 
scattered them in a deep wide rut in the street ; a 
heavily loaded wagon came along and pressed them 
into the mud. 


RAPE OF THE SKELETON. 


95 


CHAPTER X. 

RAPE OF THE SKELETON. 

The “ Med ” had given to the world its annual 
quota of physicians, the under-graduates had de- 
parted, and Cloverdale had settled itself for a long 
summer’s nap, when in the minds of three youthful 
residents of Roseberry’s Hill, mischief was brewing. 
It is extremely doubtful whether the good people of 
Cloverdale would have approved of the designs these 
boys had determined to carry out ; but the average 
American youth cares very little for the approbation 
of people in no way related to him. If reprimanded 
by persons not in authority over him, he is apt to 
say, “It is none of your business,” and continues to 
follow his own inclinations. Let us not criticise 
him ; he has his own standards of right and wrong. 

The perpetrator of boyish pranks is not a coward, 
who meets accusations with hanging head and guilty 
face. His motives are not bad ; therefore whether 
people censure or wink at his tricks, his eye is full of 
honest defiance. The mischievous boy, contrary to 
the predictions of the good deacons, whose orchards he 
has robbed, does not always make a bad man. Ten 
chances to one, he makes a man of energy and force. 
The naturally good boy is apt to be slow all his life ; 
early piety is often nothing but stupidity. 

Bob, Wib and Babe had planned a very daring 
adventure ; but there was a strong motive behind it, 


96 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


more than the love for mischief. There was no desire 
to permanently appropriate other people’s property ; 
but to obtain, for a time, that with which to bring an 
erring man to his senses, and to relieve his daughter 
from a constant source of sorrow. 

On a summer night, as the clock in the court- 
house tower was sending the last stroke which marked 
the eleventh hour out over the sleeping town, an 
upstairs window in the Ward residence was raised 
slowly from the inside, and a bulky form within pre- 
pared to descend to the ground. It was Babe. 
Noiselessly climbing out on the kitchen roof, and 
shutting the window behind him, he descended to the 
earth by means of a box which he had previously 
placed on a water-barrel. 

Babe’s heart beat violently as he thought of what 
was begun ; but he was not the boy to back out. 
He looked back at his window. He had never left 
his room through it before, but it could not have 
been done otherwise on this occasion ; for had he 
gone down the front stairs he would certainly have 
awakened his mother, and if by the back stairs he 
would have had to pass through the servant’s room. 
In either case detection was certain, and that meant 
defeat. 

The night was dark. The moon was hidden by 
clouds that went scudding along at a rapid rate. 
An occasional gleam came down from between 
clouds, illuminating for a moment surrounding ob- 
jects and making blacker shadows beneath the trees. 
Not a sound arose from the town, most of which was 
visible from the hill. Even the mills by the railroad, 
that often roared and hummed the whole night, were 


RAPE OF THE SKELETON. 


97 


cold and silent. There was the quiet of a country 
town in peaceful repose. 

Babe stepped upon the plank walk, and it creaked. 
He had never heard it creak before. Stepping off 
on the other side upon the soft grass, he walked over 
in the dark shadows of the trees, and wondered why 
the boys did not come. Babe felt that he was alone. 
He thought that there would not be as much fun as 
he had anticipated in stealing a skeleton from the 
“ Med.” He looked up at his room and wished he 
was there, in bed and sound asleep. 

A low whistle in the direction of the back gate 
dispelled these gloomy thoughts, and turning he saw 
a dark form peering over the gate. From a peculi- 
arity in the whistle, he knew it was Wib. 

Babe crossed the grass plot, unlatched the gate 
and passed out. Pulling his coat collar up around 
his neck and his hat over his eyes, he leaned against 
the barn and talked with Wib. 

“Did you make a noise — getting out?” Wib 
asked. 

“ No ; only the walk creaked when I stepped on it.” 

“ So did the porch with me.” 

“ Did it waken anybody ? ” 

“ No, though it was plenty loud enough. I stood 
under those pines south of the house a while to see 
if any one was disturbed, but no one stirred.” 

“ Have you seen Bob ? ” Babe asked, after he and 
his companion had looked in silence for a moment at 
the flying clouds. 

“ No ; he said he would be with us at eleven. We 
will have to wait here for him, even if we get wet. 
Confound such a rainy season, I say ! ” 

7 


98 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


The noise of a gate being opened across the street 
directed the attention of the two that way. Some one 
came rapidly but quietly across the street. As they 
expected, it was Bob. “ Come on,” he said, “ we 
must get through with this job before it rains.” 

Across a vacant lot and through dark alleys the 
boys passed to the railroad. Walking between the 
rails they went along, single file. Street crossings 
and the business part of the town were passed without 
fear, for, owing to the lateness of the hour and the 
probability of a storm, the streets were deserted and 
the houses closed. Only in one or two houses were 
lights to be seen, and they were dim. 

Nearly a mile the three followed the railroad, 
which ran by the western side of the campus. A 
stile led over the white picket fence. By it the boys 
stopped for a consultation. The college looked big 
and black in the darkness. It appeared like a huge 
fortress with its tower on one corner, and the boys 
were impressed with the seriousness of entering such 
a fortress in the dead of night to take a skeleton 
prisoner. 

The moon was almost totally obscured by the 
clouds. Only occasionally did the light penetrate 
the vapors below so as to light up the scene. The 
wind had died, save in the upper currents, where the 
clouds were hurrying along, and low sounds of 
thunder were heard in the distance. Standing 
close together by the stile, the three boys talked in 
low tones. 

“Do you know whether the janitor stays about 
the building at night ? ” Bob asked. 

“ He told me last winter he never did,” Babe re- 


PAPE OF THE SKELETON. 


99 


plied. “ Scip Snapp stays in the little room across 
from the furnace room in the winter to keep fires up. 
I don’t know whether he stays after the term’s out or 
not.” 

“ Well, I know he don’t,” said Wib. 

“How so?” Babe asked. 

“ Because he is afraid of Middleton.” 

“ What makes him afraid of that simpleton ? ” 

“ Why, you see ” 

“Never mind, now,” Bob interrupted. “We are 
in a hurry. We’ve wasted enough time already.” 
He started over the stile. 

“ Hold on a minute,” said Babe, pulling him back 
by the coat. “ I don’t propose to go into that build- 
ing until I know Snapp isn’t there. That nigger 
hasn’t any more sense than to shoot a fellow.” 

“ There is but one way to find out whether he is 
there that I know of.” 

“ How is that?” 

“ Go and see — at the window across from the fur- 
nace room, you know.” 

This suggestion was received in silence, and Bob 
started again over the stile. The others followed. 

The steps creaked loudly as they went over. The 
boys were convinced that the creaking power of all 
wooden articles was greatly increased for the express 
purpose of defeating their plans and betraying them. 
They hurried along the path. Reaching the walks 
they stepped lightly over them, taking care to keep 
on the grass. Bob, while the other two waited in an 
angle in the wall, stole up to a basement window 
beyond the main entrance, and, pressing his face to 
the pane, tried to see within. All was dark and 


100 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


silent. As he moved away he accidentally shook the 
window. Motioning to the other boys that all was 
right and to follow, he went around to the rear of the 
building. 

“ Is this the window with a broken pane?” Wib 
asked, as he and Babe came up to Bob, who had stop- 
ped by a window in the west wing. 

“ That is what I was trying to see. It doesn’t seem 
to be the one.” 

“It was farther over,” said Babe. “It was the 
second one from the corner.” 

“ Did you see anything in that window in front?” 
Wib inquired with some interest. 

“No, it’s all right. That nigger wouldn’t hurt 
any one, anyhow. He’s a coward.” 

“ Here’s the window — this way,” said Babe, who 
had moved away a few steps. 

When the two had joined him Bob put his hand 
through and unloosed the fastening. The window 
was double, and each half swung upon hinges. The 
sashes fitted closely in the casement, and they scraped 
as Bob pushed them open. He paused and listened. 
Not a sound was heard. Slowly he put one foot over 
the sill, then the other, and resting his hands upon it, 
he let himself carefully down to the ground inside. 
Babe and Wib followed, closing the window after 
them. 

One who has had no experience in such dare-devil 
scrapes, cannot appreciate the pitch of excitement to 
which these boys were wrought. They held their 
breaths, and strained their ears at the slightest suspi- 
cion of a sound. Outside the wind began to blow. 
The thunder came nearer. A sudden gust of wind 


RAPE OF THE SKELETON. 


101 


blew open the window which had been but imper- 
fectly fastened, and the sashes struck against the wall 
with a loud bang. Wib hastened to close them more 
firmly. When he rejoined his companions, they en- 
tered a long dark hall-way, without a window. 

In this hall-way, at the west end, was the door 
which led into the room thatSnapp occupied when he 
slept in the building. The boys crept along quietly, 
half afraid that he was there. Suddenly a crooked 
streak of light appeared in the blackness, and the 
boys stood still in terror. A peal of thunder imme- 
diately after cleared the mystery ; it was a flash of 
lightning seen through a crack in the door of Snapps 
room. Fears were scarcely abated when a low growl 
was heard not far away. The boys retreated hastily 
into the room they had first entered, the growling fol- 
lowing them. Another flash of lightning shining 
through a dozen windows, showed the gleaming eyes 
and shining teeth of some little animal which ran to 
the other end of the apartment, dragging a chain 
behind it. It turned and growled again. 

One of the fugitives had hold of the window, ready 
to pull it open when another took him by the arm and 
held him back. “Nothing but Snapp’s pet fox; it won’t 
hurt you,” said a voice which gave evidence of a high 
state of excitement in its owner. “ Come on ; have 
some grit about you, man.” 

“ Oh, yes, like you ! ” said the other in a sarcastic 
tone, “ you ran as fast as we did,” and he again 
attempted to open the window. 

“ Stop,” said the first speaker. “ What is the use of 
giving up now?” We are in the building, the work 
is commenced, and no one is here to catch us. Shall 


102 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


we run from a pet fox ? Besides, listen to the rain. 
Do you want to get wet through and through ? ” 

There was a silence, save for the beating of the 
rain against the windows, and the boys stood still. 
After a while they became more calm, and with Bob 
in the lead, they started off again into the dark hall. 

Softly they retraced their steps and came to a 
staircase leading up to the first floor. They ascended 
and found themselves on a hard tile floor against 
which their heels clicked noisily. Removing their 
shoes they set them on the stairs. In stocking feet 
they walked to the front of the hall to look out 
through the glass doors at the storm. At every 
flash of lightning they could see far down the watery 
street. Bob pressed his face against the cold pane 
and looked toward the railroad. He saw the mid- 
night train rush by with roar and rattle, an open 
furnace door sending a long gleam of light out into 
the darkness. 

“ What are we standing around here doing nothing 
for? ” Babe inquired rather impatiently. “ Wib, you 
volunteered to get that skeleton, why aren’t you 
at it ? ” 

Wib glided away toward the stairs leading to the 
second floor, and ascended, leaving his friends below. 
Having reached the upper story, he felt his way care- 
fully toward the dissecting room door. He had 
explained to Bob and Babe that there were two 
ways to get into the little room where the skeleton 
was kept. One was to go up the elevator shaft as 
best he could (for there was no elevator,) from the 
cellar, and the other was to go through the dissect- 
ing room. He had carefully noticed the key which 


RAPE OF THE SKELETON. 


103 


Middleton used to unlock the door of this room, and 
when he examined the key he had taken in the 
private room, he found that as nearly as he could 
tell, the two were alike. Then the key that he had 
would let him in through the dissecting room, and 
save the trouble of ascending the elevator shaft. As 
lie groped along in the darkness his foot struck a 
high stool, knocking it over with a great clatter. 
Stepping more carefully he came to the door, and 
taking the key from his pocket, inserted it in the 
lock. Thoughts of what had been, and perhaps were 
yet in that horrible room, thoughts which had been 
crowding upon his mind ever since he entered the 
building, made him hesitate. He would not let his 
fears overcome him, however, and he slowly turned 
the key, hoping in his soul it would not unlock the 
door. Slowly, slowly the bolt moved back, and noth- 
ing was between him and the skeleton but possible 
horrors. He opened the door an inch, two inches. 
He felt faint and fell back against the wall, pulling 
the door to, then he shrunk away. 

“Did you get in — would the key fit?” The boys 
whispered as Wib came to the bottom of the stairs.” 

“ Ye-e 1 couldn’t get in very well that way. 

We’ll have to try the elevator shaft; he answered.” 

“ Didn’t we hear a door slam ? ” 

“ What if you did ? Didn’t I tell you I couldn’t 
get in that way ? Come with me to the cellar. 
There, don’t forget your shoes.” 

Near the bottom of the cellar steps was the eleva- 
tor shaft. Wib easily found it and pulled open the 
door. There he stood stupidly jingling the various 
things in his pockets. 


104 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON . 


“ What’s the matter ? ” said Babe. 

“I’ve left that key up-stairs.” 

“ Well, you’d better go and get it then.” 

Wib removed his shoes, for he had put them on at 
the foot of the cellar steps, and went upstairs again. 
He was gone a long while, it seemed ; but finally he 
reappeared, and with the others, entered the shaft 
and closed the door, behind them. 

Babe struck a match against the brick wall and lit 
a candle which he had brought' The dim light made 
the four narrow walls about them visible ; above, all 
was dark. 

“ Now the next question is, how am I going to get 
up there?” said Wib. “A long piece of scantling 
used to stand in here. I thought I could climb up 
it ; but it’s gone.” 

“ There’s a rope behind you,” said Bob. 

Wib turned and saw a large rope. He gave it a 
pull and it gave easily, while a rumbling of wheels 
and pulleys was heard above. 

“Here’s luck,” he said. “They have had an 
elevator of some sort put up here. There’s another 
rope in that corner behind you, Babe ; pull it.” 

Babe pulled the rope downward, and the other 
began to ascend. Soon some huge bulk came slowly 
down from the upper darkness. It was a large bas- 
ket. Wib stepped in it as soon as it had reached the 
ground, and told the others to pull him up. 

The basket went up slowly, and it seemed to Wib 
that he ascended five stories instead of two. There 
was just light enough for him to see that there was 
a break in the smooth wall — a door. Having given 
the word for the boys to stop pulling, he swung back 


RAPE OF THE SKELETON. 


105 


and forth in the shaft, the basket scraping against 
the brick walls, until he could place one foot on the 
threshold. Taking a firm hold on the door-knob he 
raised himself up, and holding the rope while he 
unlocked the door, stepped into the room, bringing 
the basket with him. 

It was perfectly dark and Wib had no matches. 
The lightning, having ceased, threw no light through 
the window, and the rain poured down steadily. He 
groped about for the closet door. As he knew where 
it was he had no difficulty in finding it and getting 
it open. He took the skeleton from the place where 
it hung and placed it in the basket. Stepping in 
with one foot, holding the rope with one hand, and 
the door-knob with the other, he swung himself out 
into the shaft. The door closed with a bang. 

On feeling his weight on the rope, the boys let it 
slip through their hands, and the big basket came 
down out of the darkness very unsteadily, for the 
boys let the rope slip now fast, now slowly. 

“We forgot to bring something to carry this thing 
in,” said Wib, as he got out of the basket. 

“We ought to have brought a sack,” said Babe, 
“ but I suppose it will have to be carried that way.” 

“We must find something to put it in; for we 
might meet some one, if it is one o’clock on a rainy 
night.” 

« For my part,” Wib remarked, “ I’m not going out 
of this house until it stops raining. We might as 
well put in the time hunting a sack, or some news- 
papers. Perhaps there are some in the big room, 
where we came in. Put out that light. Babe, and 
open the door. Bob and I will carry these bones. 


106 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


The light was put out, the door opened, and the 
little group moved along the dark hall-way with more 
confidence than before. 

Meanwhile Scipio Snapp, who was sleeping in the 
building, had had his nerves wrought up to a high 
pitch. Prof. Mullins wanted a fire kept up in a dis- 
tilling apparatus he had in the cellar, and had with 
difficulty persuaded Snapp to stay all night and put 
in a little coal occasionally. Snapp had only con- 
sented because he knew that Middleton had gone to 
the city for a few days. Some time in the night he 
was awakeued from a nap, by the window shaking. 
The fact that he had been having bad dreams, made 
this sound seem very suspicious, and he sat bolt up- 
right in his bed, staring wildly. He sat motionless 
ten, twenty, thirty, sixty seconds. It seemed an 
hour, so intently was his attention drawn to the win- 
dow. Then two figures, dim and indistinct, passed 
quietly by and disappeared. 

Now if Snapp had been anything of a logician, 
instead of a superstitious old negro, afraid of his own 
shadow, he would not have been at all frightened. 
First, because there was nothing in the college to 
attract burglars. Second, because both students and 
town boys were fond of prowling around the campus, 
and it was no unusual thing for them to be there late 
at night. Therefore there was no danger, but Snapp 
had Middleton and his witchcraft in his mind. He 
believed thoroughly that the young man had some 
diabolical scheme on foot, and he feared him accord- 
ingly. The fear that some mysterious thing was 
about to happen, seized the man, and he fell back on 
his bed, and covered his head with the covers. 


RAPE OF THE SKELETON. 


107 


Then the storm broke, and the beating of the rain 
and the roar of the thunder drowned all other sounds. 
It was a long while before Scipio ventured to raise 
his head and look toward the window. The storm 
had somewhat abated, the thunder and lightning had 
ceased, but the rain came down steadily. He arose, 
stealthily opened the door, and walked into the hall. 
Through it he went to the big room in the end. His 
fox growled when he entered, but when he spoke the 
little animal came to him and submitted to his 
caresses, growling uneasily the while and rolling his 
eyes in every direction as if watching for some war- 
like intruders. 

In some distant part of the building, Snapp 
thought he heard a door slam. He waited and lis- 
tened. All was quiet for so long that his fears were 
vanishing, when suddenly he heard footsteps coming 
through the hall. He turned and saw four figures 
coming through the door — three of flesh and blood, 
and one of neither. The man’s blood seemed to 
freeze within him. Uttering a cry of horror, he shut 
out the sight with his arms, and fell upon his knees. 
His first impulse was to pray. 

“ Oh, Lawd, hear de petition ob a woeful sinner. 
Dis po’ weak chile done desarve dis punishment, but 
Lawd, spar’ him ; spar’ him dis time, Lawd, an’ he 
never sin no mo’. De debbil am powerful, an’ he 
hab winnin’ ways ’bout him, Lawd, sho ’nuff, an’ he 
lead dis chile inter temptation an’ try ter drag ’im 
down ter hell ; he sends de black angels an’ Deff ter 
git him, an’ dey comes in der stormy night ter cyarry 
’im away ; but, Lawd, persarve ’im — give him one mo’ 
trial, Lawd.” Just here Snapp stole a glance behind 


108 A CLOVER!) ALE SKELETON. 

him to see if his prayer was being answered. A win- 
dow was open, and the terrible shapes were gone, for at 
the first sight of the figure in white, terrified nearly as 
much as it, they had disappeared into outer darkness. 
Realizing that there was no more need for prayer, 
Scipio devoutly closed his eyes, said “ Amen,” and 
arose. He closed the window, and as he went back 
again to shut himself in his little room until day- 
light, he mumbled in a trembling, but solemn voice, 
“ Great am de power ob de Almighty ! He brings 
de debbils an’ de image of Deff ter show His wanderin’ 
sarvants de error ob der ways, an’ when dey repent 
an’ is contrite in spurrit, He causes de cre’tur’s ob 
darkness ter vanish away. Great am de power ob 
de Lawd.” 


SKEETE'S HILL. 


109 


CHAPTER XI. 
skeete’s hill. 

It was the highest point in the state, people said, 
and indeed it was a high hill, even for that hilly- 
country. Its sides were not precipitous, but sloped 
off gently from its bald top, and were cut up into 
pasture lands and fields of wheat, now yellow 
and ready for the reaper. On the summit a few 
scattered apple trees, the remains of an orchard that 
once had flourished, cast a shade over the grass, upon 
which a man had thrown himself to rest. He was 
an admirer of nature’s beauties, and often climbed 
the long slope of Skeete’s Hill to view the scene be- 
fore him. 

Around three sides of the base of the hill was a 
continuous wood, which hid the steep and rocky de- 
scent to Rocky Branch. Looking to the north, over 
these woods, he could see down Bean Bloom bottoms 
to where the thin thread of a creek was lost in the 
distance. A mist arose from the river beyond the 
hills; while beyond this and to the right arose a 
broad, but hardly perceptible, column of smoke, 
that drifted away to the east. It was from the 
smoke-stacks and chimneys of the busy city. To the 
east and west were heavy woods with occasional 
clearings for corn fields, and here and there a white 
farm-house could be seen, surrounded by barns and 
haystacks. To the south were rolling fields, divided 


110 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


by fences and hedges and roads. The white turn- 
pike emerged from Rocky Branch Hollow at the 
west and disappeared over the top of Roseberry’s 
Hill, a mile and a half away. A line of crows flew 
over the woods on the northern side, all cawing 
lustily and flapping their wings so industriously that 
they must have been on some very urgent errand. 
Far above, a buzzard balanced on lazy wing; and in 
the distant woods were heard the scream of the jay 
and the call of the quail. 

The quietness of the scene, the heat of the after- 
noon sun, and the drowsy hum and chirp of insects 
in the grass, having a tendency to make the man 
under the trees sleepy, he roused himself and turned 
f ram the contemplation of the beautiful to that of the 
practical. He clasped his hands around his knees, 
and with an air of business-like reflection upon his 
face, looked down at two farm-houses on opposite 
sides of the hill, about half a mile or more apart. 
They were his own. He looked at them with satis- 
faction, for they showed signs of prosperity. The 
houses were small, but good. The barns were large 
and in good repair. Sleek, fat horses were in the 
yards about them. Sheep were in a pasture between 
the two places; and the bleating of the lambs and 
the ringing of the bells on the rams’ necks he could 
distinctly hear. Then there came faintly to his ear 
the cackling of chickens, the gobbling of turkeys, the 
quacking of ducks, and the hissing of belligerent 
ganders. Standing in a gate, holding it open with 
one hand and with a milk pail in the other, stood a 
woman calling to the cows. “ Soo cow, soo cow, soo 
cow ; sooky,” she sang in musical tones, and the cows 


SKEETE'S HILL. 


Ill 


lifted their heads, gazed at her over the clover, and 
walked leisurely across the pasture towards her in 
the open gate. 

All this gave the man under the tree great satis- 
faction. Y et he was not selfish. He rejoiced in his 
plenty of the world’s goods, but he gave from this 
plenty much to the poor and to religious institutions. 
He was laying his plans for harvesting and disposing 
of the wheat in the fields behind him. He turned to 
look at them. Walking beside the remains of a rail 
fence that zig-zagged over the hill, he saw a bent 
form approaching. As it came nearer he recognized 
it. 

“Well, I’ll be durned — if that ain’t Scip Snapp ! 
Wliat’s he doin’ up here ? ” he said to himself. 

The negro approached and as the man under the 
tree spoke to him he took off his hat, bowed politely, 
and returned the salutation. 

“ Good-afternoon, Misser Roseberry. How is yo’ 
health to-day ? ” 

“Oh, I'm feelin’ right smart,” said Mr. Roseberry, 
leaning back against the tree and placing his slouch 
hat on his knee, “but more like thinkin’ than workin.’ 
I come up here to hoe them sweet p’taters up some, 
and after I got that done I laid down here an’ purty 
nigh went to sleep.” 

“ Right on de bar’ groun’ ? in de sun ? I’se seen 
mergers done do dat, but nebber a white man.” 

“ Scip, it’s the nicest thing out to come up here au’ 
lay around oil a hot day watchin’ the cattle and 
listenin’ to the crows an’ the jay birds in the woods. 
An’ then that glimpse of Rocky Branch you can git 
through the trees just to the left of yon crook in the 


112 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

fence ! Why, it’s worth settin’ here a whole day to 
see. More’n once I’ve said to myself, “them riffles is 
mighty purty? ” 

Snapp looked as if he did not perfectly compre- 
hend. 

“ Didn’t come up here for that yourself, then ? ” 

“ No, sar.” 

“ What for then ? ” . 

“ Lookin’ for a job.” 

“ Lookin’ for a job ? Great Caesar ! What did 
you do with the one you’ve had all these years ? ” 

“ Throwed it up, Missel* Roseberry.” 

“ What for?” 

The negro stammered and hesitated a few seconds 
and then said : 

“I’ve been kinder thinkin’ I’d like to git out o’ 
town fer a while.” 

“An’ what ’ll you do with that little house of 
yourn ?” 

“ Shet it up, Misser Roseberry.” 

“ An’ board where you work ? ” 

“ Yesser.” 

“I’d never do it,” said Roseberry emphatically. 
“ I’d never do it. For my part I want to live at 
home, with my feet under my own table.” 

“ But I urns’ do it. I mus’ git out o’ town.” 

“ Oh, I understand,” said Mr. Roseberry, rubbing 
his chin meditatively. “ The boys are runnin’ you 
too much. ’bout that — that turkey?” 

“ No, not dat, not dat. Dem boys don’t giv’ me no 
peace, sho’ nuff, but dat ain’t it.” 

“ Well, blame it all ! what is it then ? Don’t keep 
me waitin’ here for nothin’.” 


SKEETE'S HILL. 


113 


Snapp shifted his weight first on one foot and 
then on the other, and appeared laboring under some 
embarrassment. 

“ Well, you see,” he said at length, “ dai ’s sumpfin’ 
awful happened down to de college an’ I don’ want 
go round dar no mo.’ ” 

“ Somethin’ awful — what ? ” 

“ I spect I’s been berry wicked, Misser Roseberry, 
an’ I desarve it; but sho’s I live de debbil come ter 
me night fo’ las’ in de basement ob de college, an’ he 
had Deff wid him an’dey was a gwine ter cyarry me 
off, an’ right dar I proved de powah o’ pra’r ; fer when 
I prayed, dey vanished.” 

“ Is that so ? ” said Roseberry. 

“ Yes ; an’ dey’s sumpfin’ myster’us ’bout it too,” the 
negro continued, dropping down on the grass and be- 
coming more confidential. “ I don’t know wheder it 
was de Lawd er Middleton dat sent ’em.” 

“ The Lord or Middleton ! How, how ! What’d 
Middleton have to do with it?” 

“ Middleton — he’s a witch.” 

Mr. Roseberry leaned back against the tree and 
laughed. 

“ You needen’ laugh, Misser Roseberry. He am a 
witch. He am so. You ’member de night in Todd’s 
sto’ when you tol’ ’bout gittin’ der spider outen dat 
gal ? Well, sir, dat berry night arter you done gone 
he try ter b’ witch me — fro wed some ’witchin’ stuff on 
me, an’ I run agin’ ’ira an’ knocked ’im down an’ run, 
an’ he’s been a wantin’ b’witcli me eber sence. I was 
a spectin’ he war gwine do sumpfin’ ; but never sposed 
he’d send de debbil arter me.” 

“Git out, Scip; some one’s been foolin’ you.” 

8 


114 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

“ No, Misser Roseberry, sho’s I lib it war de debbil, 
and Deff, all bones ; and dey had two oder debbils 
wid ’em , an’ dey come a runnin’ fru de hall ter git 
me — been ter my room ter git me, I s’pose, and I 
warn’t dar — but when I wrastled wid de Lawd in 
pra’r dey vanished inter der storm.” 

“ How do you know it was the devil ? Did you 
see his horns, or his pitchfork on his sharp-pointed 
tail ? Now, Scip, it was nothin’ in the world but some 
of them blamed students stealin’ some bones out of 
the college, an’ you’ve been scared all for nothin’.” 

“ No, no, Misser Roseberry, it war de debbil, fer I 
heern he cloben hoofs rattle when he r’ared and 
pitched. ’Sides dat, it warn’t no students; ’cause 
dey’s all gone, but Middleton — all but dat one Mid- 
dleton. An’ dat’s why I spose it war Middleton an’ 
not de Lawd dat sent ’em.” 

Mr. Roseberry looked somewhat skeptical. 

“ You see,” continued the negro, “ de Lawd might 
a sent ’em, but ’pears like He’d sent ’em when dey 
was mo’ call fer ’em. Fer de las’ fo’ weeks I’s been 
powerful good, I tell yer; an’ if dey’d a come /o’ dat 
I’d a knowed de Lawd sent ’em. But when I ain’t 
been doin’ nuddin wicked, why co’se Middleton sent 
’em.” 

Mr. Roseberry yawned. “ That’s a purty big 
yarn,” he said. “What had you been drinkin’ that 
night?” 

Snapp looked at the white man very reproachfully 
for a moment, then he cast his eyes to the ground, 
and for a short time was silent. 

“ Misser Roseberry,” he said, looking up, “ do you 
know how many people I’se told ’bout dis? ” 


SKEETE'S HILL. 


115 


“ The whole town, I reckon.” 

“No, sar; you’s de only man.” 

Snapp looked at Mr. Roseberry keenly. The latter 
did not appear to be deeply interested in the conver- 
sation, but the negro kept at him. 

“See here, Misser Roseberry, you know why I 
doan’ tell anybuddy ’bout dis ? I tell you why — kase 
nubuddy ’d b’lieve it. De people’s gittin’ soonb’liev- 
in’ wid dere new-fangled notions, dat dey won’t b’lieve 
it when somebuddy says dey’s seen a ghos’ er a 
spurrit ; an’ I knowed dey wudn’t b’lieve me when 
I say I done seen de debbil.” 

“ Then you think that if you can’t get any one else 
to b’lieve that kind of nonsense, you’ll come aroun’ 
an’ stuff me full of it ! ” said Roseberry with some 
indignation. 

“ Looky here, Misser Roseberry,” and the negro 
leaned over, tapped the white man emphatically on 
the arm, “ if sech things kin happen in Or’gon, dey 
kin happen here too.” 

Roseberry glared at the negro half savagely : 

“ Dere’s a difference in people,” Snapp continued. 
“ Some am young an’ smart, an’ dey don’t b’lieve 
nuddin but what dey kin see an’ understan’. Udders 
am ole, an’ dey’s had ’sperience, an’ dey knows der’s 
some t’ings happens dats beyon’ de understandin’ ob 
mortal man. IV one ob dem ; an’ so is you, Misser 
Roseberry. Dey can’t tell me dey ain’t no ghos’s. I’s 
seen a many a one down in de swamps when I was a 
slave ; an’ I’s seen a many a one sence, sometimes 
one kin’ an’ sometimes an odder, an’ I alius spect fer 
ter see ’em ; but I never say nuddin’ ’bout ’em fer 


116 A CLOY ERD ALE SKELETON. 

dey people wudn’t no mo’ b’lieve ’em ’n dey b’lieve 
yo’ stories ’bout Or’gon. 

“No, Misser Roseberry,” continued the negro, as 
the man frowned at him, “ dey don’t b’lieve yo’ 
stories. But 7 b’lieve ’em. I know dat dere’s good 
spurrits as well as bad, an’ dey he’ped you do detn 
t’ings you tells ’bout, an’ made all dem big t’ings you 
seed in Or’gon. So dat ar’s de reason I tells you 
’bout dis an’ no one else ; you know sech t’ings does 
happen, an’ you b’lieve me.” 

What could Roseberry say ? 

“ Now you knows why I wants ter git out ob 
town ; Middleton send Deff an’ de debbil ter git my 
po’ soul, an’ he take my carcass ter cut up in de dis- 
sectin’ room. Wudn’t you leave town, too? ” 

“ What kind of a job do you want, Scip ? ” Mr. 
Roseberry asked. 

“ I been t’inkin’ dat it ud do my constertution 
good ter indulge freely in gineral farm work,” Snapp 
answered, straightening up with much show of vigor. 

“Go down to the west place there, and tell Sim- 
mons I say to let you help cut that field of oats north 
of the house ; to-morrow, I’ll see ’bout givin’ you 
somethin’ to do all summer.” 

The negro followed the fence down the hill. Mr. 
Roseberry sat watching him with a very serious face 
until he disappeared within the house. Then with 
the hoe he pulled to him his hat, which a breeze had 
carried away a few feet, put it on, and having 
stepped over the two remaining rails of the fence 
which passed over the hill, he started toward the 
“east place.” He put the hoe in the barn and 
started into the woods. Becky had come with him 


SKEETE'S HILL. 


117 


that day and had gone to read in a favorite seat of 
hers on the roots of a tree just at the top of the steep 
descent to Rocky Branch. Here she was to wait 
until her father came for her. 

Mr. Roseberry had just stepped over a sunken 
road that came up the steep part of the hill from 
the creek, and had entered the woods when he saw 
the form of a slender youth tripping daintily along 
some distance ahead of him. The young man was 
going in the same direction as himself. Occasionally 
he stooped to gather some of the wild flowers which 
grew in profusion in the woods. He had gathered 
quite a bouquet, and he looked at them admiringly 
as lie walked along. As he bent down to pluck a 
flower with delicate blue peials and hairy stamens 
which grew by a rotten log he presented his side, 
and Mr. Roseberry recognized him. It was Middle- 
ton. 

Mr. Roseberry paused and looked at the young 
man. He didn’t know why he did either. He was 
thinking of Snapp’s strange story and the part he 
thought that Middleton had had in it. Now Mr. 
Roseberry was the last person to believe such super- 
stitious nonsense, yet he looked with much interest. 
Possibly Middleton and some of his cronies had been 
in the college that night, but he certainly had not 
sent the devil there. It was laughable to think of 
these wild students frightening the old darkey half 
out of his wits with their pranks. 

Mr. Middleton moved on. 

Through the trees Mr. Roseberry saw Reba sitting 
in her accustomed seat when at the farm. The big 
tree, against whose trunk she reclined, leaned away 


118 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


from the sharp descent as if afraid of falling over ; 
but it spread out its branches so that they cast a leafy 
shadow on the water below. Reba was not reading. 
Her book lay unopened in her lap, and in her fingers 
she held a white May-apple blossom, the last of the 
season. She had found it at the foot of a sheltered 
bank, from where the snow had scarcely melted in 
April. Reba was looking out, absent-mindedly, over 
the leaves of the trees that grew below her, at a 
farmer’s team pulling a wagon up a hill half a mile 
away. Her face was pale and a trifle thinner than a 
few weeks before. Mr. Roseberry wondered every 
day at the cause of this, and once he drew her to his 
side and asked what was the matter with his poor, 
motherless child. She gave him some indefinite 
answer, and was still. Then she thought that if she 
would speak and tell him it was on his account that 
she was suffering, and why, that he might do better. 
The words came almost to the trembling lips, but 
her courage failed, and an opportunity was lost. 
Her father had on several occasions caught her look- 
ing at him with those large, wistful eyes, and each 
time she looked away so quickly, when discovered, 
that he was lost in wonderment. As he saw her 
there in the woods, looking out over the trees that 
grew up from below, he was troubled more than ever. 
It was such places as this that he liked for solemn 
meditation, and he knew that here, too, his Becky 
was brooding over her mysterious troubles. This 
place was a favorite with him as well as with her. 
In fact, it was part of the very scene he had in mind 
when he told the story of Bones and his queer com- 
panions. There was the tree with the exposed roots, 


SKEETE’S HILL. 


HO 


the steep descent, the trees at its foot, and the flat 
plain below, now filled with ripening grain. The 
little pool he got elsewhere. 

Suddenly Mr. Middleton stopped^slapped his hand 
lightly on his leg, and appeared somewhat agitated. 
He had discovered Reba. He stood still a moment 
and then began tip-toeing as noiselessly as he could 
through the dead leaves and twigs, the accumulation 
of years, toward a point back of the tree against 
which Reba was leaning. Mr. lloseberry watched 
this manoeuvre with a frown. Being almost con- 
cealed by a blackberry bush, probably grown from 
seeds of a berry which some bird had carried from 
bushes by the sunken road, he determined to watch. 
Setting his feet apart with some firmness and thrust- 
ing his hands firmly down into his pockets, he 
muttered to himself: 

“ What the devil’s he up to now ? ” 

Mr. Middleton reached the tree by which Reba was 
sitting, rested his hand against its rough bark, and 
peeped around at her, rather uncertain as to what he 
wanted to do next. He cleared his throat to attract 
her attention, but she was too much absorbed in her 
own thoughts to hear. He stood motionless a 
minute ; then a happy thought struck him. Taking 
two narrow ribbons that were pinned in a bow- 
knot to the lapel of his vest, he tied them around 
the bunch of flowers he had collected, and gently 
threw them into Reba’s lap. 

As the girl, very much startled turned around, 
Middleton raised his hat and gracefully bowed. 
Very naturally Reba was amazed, and her pale cheeks 
became red, whether with blushes or indignation 


120 A CLOVEUDALE SKELETON. 

Middleton did not stop to consider. Nor does it 
matter much. Reba’s surprise was natural, and 
her words, had she spoken any, would have been 
natural too. A society woman in her place would 
instantly have demanded with much show of anger, 
“ Sir, what means this intrusion ? ” But Reba’s 
education in conventionalities had not reached that 
stage. Her amazement, and whatever other emotion 
the appearance of Mr. Middleton had caused, in- 
creased when, with his hat in his hand, bowing and 
smiling, he stepped before her and said : 

“ Sweet Becky with the deep dark eye 
A charming country maid 
Art thou ; a sober student I, 

And dignified and staid ; 

But when upon thy cheek the rose 
I see, such beauteous red, 

Within my musty heart there glows 
A passion I thought dead.” 

Mr. Middleton had thought that this would be a 
sufficient introduction, as he had sent the girl his 
verses; but as her amazement did not seem in the 
least diminished he thought another verse necessary. 

“ I love to see thy brown arms ply 
The dasher of the churn ; 

To be enclasped by them I sigh. 

My fond heart oft doth yearn 
To have such love as I bestow 
On thee, bestowed on me ; 

But then, alas! no sign, I know, 

Of love thou’st given me.” 

Again Mr. Middleton’s expectation that “ Sweet 
Becky” would give some evidence of that affection 
which Wib had duped him into believing she had for 


SKEETE' S HILL. 


121 


him was unrealized. Her amazement was unabated, 
and her “ deep dark eyes ” had an ominous flash in 
them. It was therefore with some misgivings, and 
with wilder flutterings of his susceptible heart, that 
Middleton repeated the last verse of his poem. 

“ But in my heart a hope have I, 

Securely planted there 
By just a glance from thy deep eye, 

That constancy most rare 
Thou hast for me, and will’st it give 
When dalliance has her due ; 

Till then, fair girl, on hope I’ll live, 

And be to thee most true.” 

Ere this was finished Reba had risen, and stood 
with flashing eyes and angry looks before the wooer. 
He shrank from her, fearing the result of his bold- 
ness. 

“ Did you not get my verses ? ” he asked. 

Before Reba could answer, Mr. Roseberry, who had 
been craning his neck over the blackberry bushes 
and had heard every word, came rushing down upon 
the unfortunate Middleton, his eyes gleaming like a 
savage’s and his face red as fire. The two grappled, 
and in the struggle which ensued, leaves, dead twigs 
and dirt flew in all directions. The youth was no 
match for the man, and in an extremely short space 
of time he was firmly grasped by one leg and the 
collar, and with more curses than ever before came 
from the mouth of “ Or’gon ” Roseberry, he was 
thrown headlong down the hill. He lit on some 
heavy underbrush at the bottom of the declivity and 
fell over on the other side. There was a splash. 
Fortunately for Middleton he lit in a place where 


122 


A CLOVE RDALE SKELETON. 


the cattle came to drink, and their sharp feet had 
cut the soft bank and the water had run in. He soon 
appeared again, bending over, arms hanging down, 
mud and water dripping from him in streams. In a 
blind rage at having met with such humiliation and 
wishing to make the score even, he yelled furiously 
at Roseberry who had started away with Reba. 

“Liar! Liar! Infernal liar! You’re a disgrace 

to the town — to your family to your — ha ! ha! — 

to your daughter. Run, you jibbering fool ! ” 


PREPARA TIONS. 


123 


CHAPTER XII. 

PREPARATIONS. 

Upon a rainy night in June three conspirators sat 
in the work-room of a large barn. On the wall a 
lantern hung, and its narrow flame threw a dim light 
on the odd assortment of things around. On pegs 
in the walls hung broken bits of harness, a string of 
sleigh bells, some half-worn horse-shoes with the nails 
still in them, a cow-bell, some trace chains, a horse- 
collar and other things to be found in a stable. On 
one side of the room was a work-bench on which 
were planes, saws, a draw-knife, a brace and bits, 
hammers and nails, and a box containing a miscella- 
neous collections of screws, nails and pieces of broken 
machinery. In one corner was a “ sawbuck ” with a 
saddle thrown over it. In another, an old cart. 
Behind the door a pitch-fork and a broom. It is 
difficult to tell just what was not in this room, 
especially as the light was dim and most of the room 
was dark. 

One of the conspirators — the one with the portly 
form — sat upon a block, a section of a tree such as 
the butchers have, in the middle of the floor. On 
the work-bench sat his smaller companion, while the 
tall one sat on a box in front of him. All were sew- 
ing on some strange-looking garments of green and 
yellow; but as the light was poor and the sewers un- 
skilled, the stitches were long and irregular. This did 


124 


A CLOVER DALE SKELETON. 


not seem to matter greatly, for the garments on 
which they were basting patches, sewing up seams, 
and taking up or letting out sleeves, were not 
intended to be worn upon a dress occasion. They 
were the remains of a masquerade of long ago, and 
having been thrown about in old closets for years, 
were out of repair. 

“ Do you hear the rain ? ” said one of the trio. “ It’s 
as bad as the night we stole the skeleton.” 

Neither of the other boys seemed to think it 
necessary to answer this question, for as the rain was 
coming down in a very business-like manner, it was 
obvious that any one who was not deaf could hear it 
distinctly. But the silent tongues indicated busy 
brains. All were thinking of a night. not long be- 
fore, when, with a bony burden, they had quickly 
scrambled through a basement window of the “ Med ” 
building into the rain. It was such a rainy season, 
and that night was the worst. Across the campus 
they had gone, over the stile to the railroad, then on 
through the rain. Splashing into pools of water, 
stumbling over the exposed ends of ties, slipping on 
the rails, they ran a race for home. Bob clung faith- 
fully to the skeleton. Having arrived back of Ward's 
barn, the boys stood under the dripping eaves and 
wondered what to do. They were soaked to the skin 
and it was yet raining. To go into their respective 
homes with wet clothes would be certain to cause 
unpleasant questions in the morning. At the same 
time they could not stand there in the rain. Bob 
found a way out of the difficulty. Telling the others 
to follow he crossed the street, entered his own gate 
and walking under the double row of trees that led 


PREPARATIONS. 


125 


up to the house, and then under an arbor that ran 
around, he came to the wash-house in the rear. They 
entered, and with some shavings, Bob made a fire in 
a big stove used on washing days. Sitting around 
in silence, the boys let their clothes dry. 

Two hours passed away. Each one, worn out by 
late hours, and comforted by the genial warmth, 
nodded in his chair, until three vigorous strokes of 
the old clock on the kitchen shelf aroused them. 
Their clothing had dried. Babe opened the door and 
peeped out. The rain had ceased and the stars were 
shining. Wib and Babe departed, the latter taking 
the skeleton, for he said lie had a good place to hide 
it; and Bob stole into the house and went to bed. 

The adventure was not discovered. The boys cov- 
ered up their tracks well. No one about their respec- 
tive households knew that any one of them had been 
out during the night. Bob’s aunt found muddy 
tracks in the wash-house, but that was nothing un- 
usual, so she made no inquiries. Moreover, Scipio 
Snapp, for reasons of his own, had not told his part 
of the story ; and if he had, it would not have led to 
the discovery of the boys, for he misunderstood what 
he had seen. The boys did not know how silent he 
was about the matter, but not having heard of him 
telling of it, they felt easy. 

A week had passed, however, before they ventured 
to make preparations to carry out their designs ; but 
at the end of that time they met in Moore’s barn. 

“ There is one thing I have been thinking about 
for the last day or two,” said Bob, breaking a long 
silence, “and that is, that Middleton has or will 
discover that the skeleton is gone and raise a row 


126 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


about it. Snap is afraid of him, as Wib says, and will 
keep away from him, but if he should hear that 
Middleton is raising a row about this thing being 
stolen from the ‘ Med ’ he might set his wits to work 
to find out who took it.” 

“ You needn’t be afraid of that,” said Wib. 

“ Why not?” 

“ Middleton has left town.” 

“You don’t say?” 

“ Why, haven’t you heard about it ? 4 Or’gon ’ 

Roseberry has been 4 raising Cain ’ with him. I saw 
him yesterday, an’ he was mad even then.” 

“What’s Middleton been doing?” 

44 It seems that 4 Or’gon’ caught him getting off 
some sentimental poetry to Reba out here in the 
woods, and chucked him down a bank into the 
water.” 

44 That explains something,” said Babe. 44 1 saw 
him coming in town through the back streets, and 
he was covered with mud, and looked like he’d been 
stealing sheep.” 

44 Yes, that’s what’s the matter. He was afraid it 
would get out and he would be made fun of, so he 
has left town. Won’t be back next year, they say.” 

44 He was struck then, was he — with Reba ? ” Bob 
asked with as much disinterestedness as he could 
assume. 

Wib winked slyly at Babe and said in an evasive 
tone : 

44 Blame’ if I know ! Reckon he was. Have you 
got that patch on ? ” 

Wib had kept his own counsel about his interview 
with Middleton because he did not want Bob to 


PREPARATIONS. 


127 


think that he had ever contemplated acting as a 
messenger between Reba and her poetical admirer ; 
so he turned the conversation in another direction as 
soon as possible. 

The old costumes having been changed and mended 
so as to suit the occasion for which they were in- 
tended, Bob and Babe put them on. Bob, who was 
to take the part of the woman, was dressed in a short 
green dress and cape, and an old-fashioned hat. A 
wig he was to borrow from his aunt without her 
permission. Below his dress his breeches were 
wrapped so as to take the form of his legs. They 
would not show plainly in the dark. Babe, who was 
to represent the little man, had on a green blouse 
with a big yellow cravat around the collar, a pair of 
knee breeches, long stockings and low cut shoes. 
On his head he had what had been a silk hat, but 
triangular slips had been cut out from each side 
and the top and edges brought together, making 
it a good imitation — in the dark — of that peaked 
sort of head-gear generally seen on the witches 
in the pictures. The appearance of the boys thus 
arrayed was certainly fantastic, and in their disguises 
they closely resembled the imaginary people Rose- 
berry had described. 

Babe took two little pointed sacks from his pocket, 
filled them with shavings, and sticking a foot into 
each, tied them fast. “ Peaked shoes. See ! ” he 
said. 

Nothing was lacking now to complete their dis- 
guises but to make their faces unrecognizable. Wib 
took the lantern from its peg on the wall, removed 
its top and held a cork in the blaze until it was 


128 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


blackened. Then he made lines on Babe’s face from 
each side of his nose to the corners of his mouth ; 
drew lines on his forehead to represent wrinkles, and 
otherwise disfigured him. Of Bob he made a 
wrinkled old woman. They surveyed themselves in 
a piece of an old mirror which was tacked on the 
wall, and laughed aloud. So pleased were they that 
they joined hands with Wib and danced around the 
room until the old stable shook. 

“Now, let’s talk about this thing a while,” said 
Bob, when they had stopped. “ Did you bring that 
can of oil, Wib?” 

“ Yes ; how are you going to use it without 
Or’gon seeing you?” 

“ Why, this way : I will have the can hid in the 
bushes by the pond, and when we come from the 
house with the old man I will get him to digging, after 
going through a rigmarole of stuff, and make him 
keep his face towards the moon. When he has dug a 
while, I’ll pour in some oil — behind him, you under- 
stand. When he smells it he will dig harder ; then 
I will pour in more oil. Understand? Two or 
three nights of it will get him excited high enough ; 
and then we’ll come down on him, and threaten to 
give him away if he tells any more yarns. 

“And another thing,” Bob continued, after a 
pause, “we must all act as nearly as possible like 
the people in the story. We must change our voices 
so he will not recognize us. We must make our 
actions and talk as queer as possible — like hob- 
goblins, you know. And another thing,” — Bob 
made an emphatic gesture — “ we must tell him when 
we part the first night that he must not dig in the 


PREPARATIONS. 


129 


day time, for the charm won’t work. For, if he gets 
to prowling around there in daylight, he'll see easy 
enough that it’s all a fraud. He may anyhow, and 
we’ll have to be careful.” 

Bob thus gave some of the details of a plan pre- 
viously agreed upon, with a tirm voice and an earnest 
manner. He realized forcibly what he was about, 
and that he was responsible for all that might occur 
in the execution of the plan, for he had proposed it. 
What would Reba think if she knew the wild thing 
he was going to do, even if it was for her sake ? 
What would his aunt think ? He would not consider 
such questions long. He had a purpose in view and 
he knew but one way to accomplish it. If he failed, 
no one would know who did it, nor why it was done ; 
so his determination was to go on. 

“ They’re your parts,” said Wib, “but what about 
mine? It’s about time you’re getting that skeleton 
over here to be rigged up if it needs it.” 

Bob stooped down, raised a loose board in the 
floor and pulled up the skeleton. 

“ ‘ Ha ! ha ! old boy ! ’ ” said Wib, assuming his most 
tragic pose, “ ‘ cans’t dig i’ the earth so fast? ’ ” 

Wib had been to the theatre. 

“ What rigging does he need ? ” Babe inquired. 

For answer Wib tied a string to the lower jaw of 
the skeleton which he sat in front of him on the big 
block. Alternately pulling and slackening the string, 
he made the jaw move up and down. “ Just that,” 
he said. *“ When you fellows come back from the 
house with ‘ Or ’gon ’ I will be in the hollow tree. 
You set Bones down on the ground in front of it so 
I can reach him. Then what is easier than to talk 


130 A CLOVEBDALE SKELETON. 

myself and make it seem that this limber-jawed 
skeleton is doing it all ? ” 

The boys smiled grimly. Their natural feeling of 
-abhorrence toward the skeleton had been mostly dis- 
pelled by familiarity with it, but still the thought of 
it sitting in the dark, barely visible, and apparently 
talking was not one to make them very merry. Wib 
changed his voice and pulled the string. 

“ Ah, Kerro,” the skeleton seemed to say, “ many 
are the years we and your good partner have wan- 
dered about together. What we have done no mor- 
tal knows — but * Or’gon’ Roseberry. Haw ! haw ! 
haw ! ” 

“ Good ! ” said both of the boys, observing that the 
voice could hardly be detected as Wib’s even when 
they knew it was his. “ Give us some more.” 

“ The dreams of his life must soon be realized. He 
must have 4 ile * ; and we must give it to him. When 
will the moon be full, Kerro ? ” 

“ A week from this night, ” said Babe in his most 
solemn tones. His voice was also well disguised ; 
but not so perfectly as Wib’s. “We’ll let you do 
most of the talking, as you haven’t anything else to 
do,” Babe added in his own voice. 

“ What cheek, by jowl ! ” said Wib. 

“What do you mean by that?” Bob asked. 

“ Why, man,” Wib replied, “ you’re not up in 
your literature ; that’s a quotation from- Shake- 
speare.” 

“Well, I wish you’d never seen or heard tell of 
Shakespeare,” said Babe, who was somewhat irri- 
table. 

“ Sir,” said Wib, with some show of dignity, “ day 


PREPARA TIONS. 


131 


after to-morrow I go to Cincinapolis, as Sarah Wat- 
son designates our city, a few miles to the north, to 
hear Richard III. Neither do I care for your per- 
mission to go.” 

“ That’s enough now,” said Bob, who occasionally 
had to check his two friends. “ It’s getting late. 
Let’s take these things off, wash at the pump under 
the shed, and go.” 

When the disguises had been removed, the 
blackened faces washed and the skeleton safely hid- 
den, the three stood under a shed on one side of the 
barn, ready to part. 

“ It’s still sprinkling,” said one. 

“It will keep on so, and we can’t wait all night 
for it to stop,” said another. 

“ Scoot, then,” said the third. 

And they did. 


132 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

INCREASED CARES. 

Depressed with mortification at those last words 
of Middleton’s, Reba went away with her father 
from the scene in the woods, feeling worse than ever 
before. It was the first time she had heard her 
father’s fault so loudly proclaimed, and she felt hope- 
less. She was not angry when it was all over. She 
felt no revengeful feeling against Middleton. She 
knew what he said was too true. That was what 
was killing her. 

There were several reasons why Reba’s affliction 
affected her so much. She was very imaginative, 
and her sorrow was greatly magnified by her constant 
brooding over it. It came to be her only thought, 
crowding everything else out of her mind, until she 
no longer heard when spoken to, was moody and 
silent, and was by no means the same girl she had 
been. She had no mother to sympathize with her 
and help bear her burden ; and from this very want, 
having more mental maturity from having been 
manager in her father’s household at an age when 
other girls are entirely dependent, she was more 
capable of suffering. From the very cause of her 
trouble she could not receive sympathy from her 
father. As they rode home that evening from 
Skeete’s Hill, they were both silent the entire way. 
Reba tried in vain to get enough courage to speak of 


INCREASED CARES. 


133 


what so oppressed her ; but the words would not come. 
It would have been too much like a reproof, she 
thought ; and she would blush to reprove her father 
for such a fault ; so she kept her grief to herself. 
Even to Bob she said nothing more. She felt that 
he had sympathy for her ; but it was rather an ill-de- 
fined kind. Bob had reasons for saying nothing more 
to her about it : he was trying to do instead of merely 
offering wordy consolation. 

Reba’s grief was daily aggravated by little things 
that happened. Sally was very attentive to her, for it 
was very noticeable that she was not well. But 
Sally’s attentions were a burden. Reba only wished 
to be let alone. The kind-hearted “ Bean Bloom ” 
girl could not understand this, and was constantly 
desiring to do favors which she thought would please 
her young mistress, and bringing her this and 
that delicacy which, however tempting, would never 
be eaten, perhaps not tasted. Once when Reba 
asked where her father was, Sally burst forth : 

“ Where is he ? Where is he ginerally, I’d like t’ 
know, when he’s in town ? Down t’ Todd’s store, 
o’ course, tellin’ some o’ them yarns o’ his’n. I tell 
ye, Becky, yer pop’s a mighty fine man in some 
things, but them stories o’ his’n, I don’t take no stock 
in. They ain’t none of ’em so, an’ what’s the use o’ 
tellin’ ’em then? They don’t do no good, an’ I’m 
mighty sure they don’t make people think a mite 
more of ’im. Don’t ye want some o’ them cherries I 
picked this mornin’, Becky ? ” 

Reba bore this as well as she could. Sally was of 
course unconscious that she was making deeper the 
invisible wound which she wished would heal. Mr. 


134 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


Roseberry too was unable to find what was the mat- 
ter with his daughter, and being worried, one day 
brought the physician to the house with him. 
But Reba saw them coming up the street, and she 
went out over the pasture to the spring and stayed 
until she knew the doctor had gone. 

Even at that quiet retreat, under the shade of the 
beeches which over-shadowed the water as it came 
out from beneath the rocks, Reba was not left unre- 
minded of the thought that haunted her day and 
night. Across the pasture came Stanley Griggs. He 
approached and announced himself in his usual man- 
ner. He displayed a box of picture cards which he 
was collecting, and asked Reba to give him some. 
She spoke to him kindly and said she would when 
she went to the house. 

“ Perhaps you had better go now ; ” said the boy, 
“ I heard your father calling you as I came through 
the big gate.” 

“ Did you ? Well, we will go after a while.” 
And Reba put him off, entertaining him for an hour 
or more with stories and jingling rhymes of the 
nursery, as he sat on the grass at her feet. 

“ There’s your father,” said Stanley, during a lull 
in the talk Reba was keeping up for his benefit. He 
saw Mr. Roseberry driving the cows in the barn lot. 
“ I s’pect he wants you pretty bad,” the boy added. 

Stanley was in a thoroughly good humor and did 
not become boisterous when his remark brought no 
reply from Reba. He sat gazing over the pasture in 
a thoughtful mood. 

“ I think your father’s a funny man,” he said 
with a smile of pure innocence. 


INCREASED CA RES. 


135 


“ Do you ? ” Reba replied with a dread in her 
heart. 

“Yes ; he tells such funny stories.” 

Reba made no answer. 

“My papa says they’re awful lies; but I think 
they’re funny. Tell me one of them, Reba.” 

“ Haven’t I told you enough stories for to-day, 
Stanley?” 

He looked up into her face with a quiet wonder. 

“ You are not like other people, Reba; no one else 
ever tells me stories like you do, and gives me so 
many things. And then you look so — Oh, like 
— like you’re good. I think you’re so nice, Reba.” 

The thoughtful, earnest face flushed. 

“ Don’t other people treat you well?” 

“ No ; they tell me to get out of the way, and then 
I swear at them. Papa says I worry them. I don’t 
worry you, do I, Reba ? ” 

“ You wouldn’t if you knew it, child,” she 
answered. 

As they walked together over the pasture toward 
the big barn Reba put her hand on the boy’s shoulder, 
and talked with him in her low sweet tones. 

“ If you like me, Stanley, better than you do some 
other people, would you do something that — that 
would please me ? ” 

Even under the influence of the feelings which 
seemed to possess him, the mercenary motive came 
into Stanley’s little perverted brain, and he said, 
“And would you still give me things?” 

“ Yes” 

“ What do you want me to do, Reba ? ” 

“ You know, Stanley, that when you become angry 


136 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

with persons that you swear at them. That is very 
wrong. If you treat people that way they will treat 
you the same ; but if you do not swear nor throw 
stones, they will treat you better, and then you will 
like them as well as you say you do me. Will you 
try, Stanley ? ” 

But at that moment, the defective, imperfect mind, 
easily turned from one thing to another, banished all 
thought of the soul that had so unusual an influ- 
ence over him to follow a great yellow beetle that 
went droning by ; and Reba walked home alone. 

Dear, good girl ! Perhaps it is well that some girls 
are thoughtless and flippant, that an occasional nature 
like Reba’s may be better appreciated. 


READY. 


137 


CHAPTER XIV. 

READY. 

On a night in J une a strange group stood under 
the trees on a lawn on Roseberry’s Hill. There were 
two figures which apparently might have stepped out 
of a foreign land and a former century. They seemed 

Dutch in dress. One was a man a very fat man. 

The other was a woman. She was taller than the 
man but not so fleshy. They carried a skeleton. 
With them was another figure in very modern 
apparel. It was that of a man, rather a young man. 
He carried a can, a pick-axe and a spade. 

All were standing still and were quiet. There is 
often hesitation before a deliberate deed. The will 
weakens perhaps, for a moment, but its force returns. 
There was no sound but the gentle rustling of the 
wind through the cedars. He of the modern garb 
first nerved himself, and broke the silence. 

“ What are we standing here for — doing nothing ? 
Come on.” 

The group passed across the lawn to the garden. 
Over that and the rear fence into Roseberry’s woods. 
There they prepared to part. 

“ Be in the tree and have the can hidden in the 
bushes,” said the fat man of the past century to the 
young man with the digging tools, “ and put the 
pick-ax and the spade in the edge of the pool.” 


138 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


“ All right,” said the boy, and he disappeared in 
the woods. 

Holding the skeleton upright between them so as 
to give it the appearance of walking, the other two 
figures glided along by the fence until they came to 
a gate, through which they passed, and came into the 
darkness of the woods about the home of Hezekiah 
Roseberry. 

As they came near the house they trod softly over 
the walks and on the myrtle beds, making no noise. 
A faint light shone through the sitting-room win- 
dow, and the door was open. On tiptoes the odd 
figures stole up to the window and looked in. 
“ Or’gon” Roseberry sat in his arm-chair asleep, his 
head bowed upon his breast, his feet crossed on the 
fireless hearth. The fat man raised the fleshless 
hand of the skeleton and with it tapped upon the 
window. 


THE PLAY'S THE THING 


139 


CHAPTER XIV. 

“THE PLAY’S THE THING 

There was one thing for which “ Or’gon” Rose- 
berry disliked the summer : a fire on the hearth was 
then unbearable. He liked the fire ; he could not 
think and enjoy his thinking to the utmost unless he 
could gaze into the coals and see the smoke go up 
the wide chimney. For this reason he hailed the 
winter with delight. On long evenings, when the 
snow lay thick outside and the wind piled it in drifts 
about the doorways and angles of the house, he loved 
to sit by the hearth with his children, telling stories, 
eating nuts and drinking cider made of apples from 
Skeete’s hill. Then when the children were sent to 
bed, he often sat far into the night, dozing, and 
dreaming both awake and asleep. Waking dreams 
are a source of amusement to the poet and the lazy 
man. That is to say, if one has a strong imagination 
and with it the ability to record its flights in polished 
measures, he is called a poet; but if he lacks the 
power of expression, he is apt to be put down in the 
list of the indolent, for he is seldom seen employed. 
The man who builds extravagant fancies for his own 
amusement and that of his cronies, makes himself 
liable to a similar reputation. Mr. Roseberry’s habit 
of sitting by the fire and wasting the hours in 
dreams was almost as well known as his fondness for 
telling impossible tales ; so, notwithstanding the fact 


140 


A CLOVEliDALE SKELETON. 


that lie had accumulated considerable property by 
his labors, he was sometimes called lazy. He was, how- 
ever, somewhat independent, and cared more for pres- 
ent enjoyment than for a name for unwavering indus- 
try. He derived more pleasure from dreams of coming 
into the sudden possession of inexhaustible riches than 
he would have gotten by toiling incessantly for the 
reality ; so he cared little what people thought of it ; 
or rather, he never stopped to think of the value of 
the more perfect respect of the community. 

On summer nights Mr. Roseberry either sat out on 
the walk before the porch or just within the door, 
where he could see out through the trees into the 
starry sky. Sometimes he walked away under the 
trees to the fence and stood leaning on it and look- 
ing out over the town. Such nights were enjoyable, 
but not so much so as those in the cold winter. 

Not many nights after he had encountered Scip 
and Middleton at Skeete’s Hill, Mr. Roseberry sat 
before the open door, thinking. Little Joe had gone 
to bed. Reba too had retired to her room. A new 
pipe was in Roseberry’s hand, and with his feet 
stretched out before him, he was perfectly at ease. 
A perplexed look was on his face, for he was think- 
ing of Scip Snapp’s adventure in the “ Med ” build- 
ing. He thought that there was something real 
about the occurrence, although the negro, through 
superstition, misunderstood and greatly magnified it. 
Such tales as his own, of men and women in peaked 
hats and skeletons with the power of locomotion, he 
did not think Snapp capable of inventing. Moreover 
there was such earnestness in his story that some of 
it must have been true. Perhaps Middleton and some 


THE PLAY'S THE THING 


141 


of his companions had been up to some mischief ; but 
then all his associates had gone. Possibly there 
had been body-snatchers on some secret errand in 
the building. Either would have been sufficient to 
frighten the negro out of his wits. 

Then Mr. Roseberry fell to speculating as to what 
he would do under similar circumstances. He had 
faced many dangers in the West and knew he was 
a man of nerve. True, the perils to which he had 
been exposed were realities; notwithstanding the 
nature of his tales, he had never seen what he 
thought to be the supernatural. But, he argued, 
what would be the use of being frightened in such a 
case ? The nearest weapon, whether club or stone, 
would be sufficient protection. Then he questioned 
whether it would be necessary to be on his guard. 
The supernatural folk he loved to dream about did 
good and not harm. Thus, even in an argument 
with himself, such was the habit of his mind, that 
he blended the real and the fanciful as if they were 
of equal validity. Thereupon he fell to dreaming 
again of Kerro, his wife and Bones. 

This dream was not always the same, although the 
same mysterious people figured in it. This time they 
conducted him to the innermost recesses of the earth 
and showed him rivers of oil, which on account of 
the possibility of obtaining it by boring in 01 overdale, 
was his ideal form of wealth. All of it was given him 
to convert into money. What a pile there was of 
the yellow gold, when, in some miraculous and unex- 
plained way, the exchange was made ! He heaped 
it into an immense wagon, but ten yoke of oxen could 
not move it. Twenty, thirty/ forty, fifty refused to 


142 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


pull it over the steep and numerous hills. But his 
horse Trueblue might help. Happy thought ! True- 
blue led the cattle, and the long line began to move 
up the hill, their yokes creaking and their tongues 
lolling out. The wagon groaned under the weight 
and the wheels ground into the deep ruts to the 
right, to the left, making the wagon careen from side 
to side. When near the top of the first hill the wagon 
stuck, sunk to the hubs in a rut. The line of oxen 
extended down the other side and up the next hill. 
They pulled hard, but the wagon would not stir. 
Then Trueblue brought his miraculous strength into 
play. Still the wagon stuck fast in the rut, but the 
immense amount of strength expended in front had 
to produce a result somewhere. Look ! Trueblue 
and the leading oxen were disappearing over the top 
of the hill beyond. Had the line broken ? Uncon- 
sciously Mr. Roseberry stretched his neck to see this 
picture in his mind. Slowly, slowly the line ascended 
from the ground, and then from hill-top to hill-top, 
suspended in mid-air, was a bellowing chain of oxen, 
swinging like a bridge of monkeys across a tropical 
stream. 

“ Haw ! haw ! haw ! ” Mr. Roseberry laughed aloud, 
and straightened up. He looked around, sat still a 
moment, then settled down into the comfortable depths 
of his chair. A drowsiness crept over him, his eyes 
closed and his head sank upon his breast. 

What peace there is in innocent sleep ! A con- 
science which one would think oppressed can enjoy 
the sweetest repose until something turns its eyes 
in upon itself. 

As the man slept there came a light tap at the win- 


“ THE PLAY'S TIIE THING 


143 


dow, which partially aroused him. Another one * 
caused him to turn his head in the direction of the 
sound. What he saw was perfectly familiar to him — 
in his mind ; yet nothing could have surprised him 
more. Through the window he saw three faces ; a 
jolly old man’s, a wrinkled old woman’s, and a bony 
skull’s. A candle sitting on a table threw a pale 
glimmer over the three, and Mr. Roseberry saw the 
little old man smile and beckon to him, but he could 
only stare in amazement. 

The three disappeared and Mr. Roseberry thought 
they had gone, but an instant later they reappeared on 
the porch. The little man stopped on the threshold, 
placed his arms akimbo and shook his fat sides with 
laughter at Roseberry’s astonishment. 

Is it not strange that men rarely do in emergencies 
what they have previously determined? A few min- 
utes before Mr. Roseberry had imagined himself in 
just such a scene, and was proud of the presence of 
mind he thought he possessed ; yet, in the presence of 
the reality, he forgot it all and retreated to a corner 
in utter terror. 

“Come, come,” said the little man, taking off liis 
hat and bowing very low, “ have you forgotten us ? 
Won’t you greet us after so long an absence?” 

Roseberry remained silent and his terror was in- 
creased by seeing a frown come over the face of the 
little man. 

“ You forget Kerro, do you? ” 

The frown grew into an angry scowl, and replac- 
ing his hat on his head and pulling it down over his 
eyes, the little man crossed the room, saying as he 
came : 


144 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

“Then I’ll make you remember him.” 

“ Or’gon ” Roseberry sank to the floor and covered 
his face with his hands. He heard the old woman 
come in the door and the skeleton rattle across the 
floor with her, for she carried it at her side, erect. A 
heavy hand grasped him by the shoulder while an- 
other tore his hands from his face and made him look 
at what was before him. He groaned. 

“Now look! Do you remember us?” said the 
little man. 

“ Mercy ! ” gasped Roseberry. 

Kerro uttered a fiendish little chuckle and the old 
woman laughed down in her dry cracked throat and 
the bones rattled. Mr. Roseberry shut his eyes from 
that awful sight. Was he dreaming? It was too 
real for that, and his dormant conscience awakened. 
Every questionable act of his life, every violation of 
his wife’s desires, every impossible story that he had 
told for the truth came up in his mind with 
wonderful distinctness. He knew not whether these 
beings were of this world or another, nor could he 
imagine how creatures of one of his fancies could 
correspond so exactly with the people before him, 
whom he had never seen or heard of. He did not 
know what to expect. For aught he knew he would 
be sent into eternity the next minute with all his 
sins unpardoned. It was a vengeance sent upon him. 
Who sent it ? — God or devil ? — or Middleton ? 

With a sudden bound Mr. Roseberry was on his 
feet. 

“ Who are you ? ” he demanded in a voice of 
thunder. 

The little man was not at all disconcerted by this 


“ THE PLAY'S TIIE THING . 


145 


sudden sally. He stepped back a pace, executed 
a fragment of a double shuffle and stopped with one 
foot stuck out before him, toe up. He took off his 
hat, held it crown down, on a level with his chin, 
and waved the other hand ceremoniously. 

“ Kerro — wife — Bones — at your service,” he said. 

Mr. Roseberry looked as if he wondered what was 
coming next. The little man replaced his hat, and 
with many odd gestures, said: 

“ I know a spot — beside a pond — where if you dig 

— you will strike ” here the little man winked 

one eye knowingly and tapped Mr. Roseberry with 
his forefinger on the breast — “ oil. How does that 
strike you, old fellow?” — and the little man slapped 
him vigorously on the shoulder. “ It will not rain 
to-night. The clouds are gone. The rainy season 
is over. Night after night you may dig. But not in 
the day — not in the day. The charm will break if 
you see in the day what is done in the night. Come ; 
the moon is up.” 

Mr. Roseberry looked at the little man intently, as 
if trying to fathom his inmost thoughts. There was 
an earnest expression on the round face and the hand 
was stretched forth with an inviting gesture. What 
did it all mean ? A moment before the little man 
had been jolly, then angry, and now was earnestly 
offering him wealth if he would go away into some 
unknown spot and dig for it. Was it a plan to get 
him out into some lonesome place and murder him ? 
Although the little man’s eyes twinkled honestly, 
Roseberry had such a fear in his heart ; but when 
this queer little fellow backed away and motioned to 
him, he could not help but follow. The skeleton 


146 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


and the woman he regarded with such dread that he 
pressed closer to the little man. 

As they went out the door the woman caught hold 
of Mr. Roseberry’s coat tails and with the skeleton 
danced across the porch. “ Get away,” said the little 
man, taking Mr. Roseberry by the arm. Some time 
in the dim past, ere age had broken its fullness, 
Roseberry had heard that voice before ; but where or 
when it had been familiar to him he did not know. 

They crossed the walk and the flower bed which 
bordered it, and passed along under the trees, tread- 
ing on the soft carpet of myrtle that grew there in 
profusion. A few dried leaves rustled and a twig or 
two cracked as they walked along, but everything 
else was silent. The little man said never a word 
nor was there a sound from the pair who followed, 
save light footfalls. Roseberry wished they would 
talk. The silence filled him with dread, while at the 
start he had some confidence. A simple confidential 
word from the little man would have lessened his 
apprehension ; but it came not. 

Through the open gate and diagonally across the 
pasture to the woods they went. Passing through 
the trees and bushes, they soon halted by the side of 
a pool, which, with its surroundings, seemed made 
for the boys’ purpose. This was not so strange as 
they had thought; for “ Or’gon” Roseberry had this 
very little pond in his mind when he told the imag- 
inary story that he was now seeing reproduced in 
reality. It was down among the trees, and was such 
a little thing that a passer-by might easily overlook it. 
It was nothing more than a sink-hole, — like which 
there were many about Cloverdale — about fifty feet 


“ THE PLAT'S THE THING 147 

across, and filled with water. Its bed was covered 
with leaves from the surrounding trees. Each 
autumn sent its quota sailing unsteadily down to the 
water, in which they soon sank to become a part of 
the black mass at the bottom. The water itself ap- 
peared black; and nothing lived in it but the 
“ water-bugs,” and the frogs that croaked and 
croaked all through the summer nights. 

Around the edges of the pool and in occasional 
flakes over its surface was green scum. An end of 
a decayed log stuck up from the water, and here and 
there floated, or stood sticking up from the black 
bottom, clubs which from time to time had been 
thrown at the frogs. By the pool’s sides stood a 
number of large beech trees, sending their branches 
out over the black pool so that it got very little sun- 
shine. The roots of a hollow tree were bare and 
reached down into the water. The rising moon sent 
a few stray beams through the foliage, and made dis- 
cernible four such strange looking people standing 
by the edge of the pool, that even the disbeliever in 
supernatural phenomena would have been pale with 
fright, and would have stupidly done what he was 
bid. 

“ Or’gon ” Roseberry stood trembling and staring 
at the motions of his companions. The old woman 
and the skeleton walked over to the hollow tree and 
she assisted him to sit down and lean against it, tell- 
ing him the while to sit still and rest as he must be 
very weary from his long journey. 

“ Yes, yes, I am very tired,” said Bones in a harsh 
voice, his jaws chattering as he spoke. “ I will sit 
here while you and Kerro show our friend where to 


148 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


dig. Make the circle true or all will go for naught.” 
And Bones sank back against the tree in a lifeless, 
helpless manner as the old woman left him, although 
Mr. Roseberry noticed that he shifted himself into a 
better position a moment later, but in a very unani- 
mated manner, which was of course very natural for 
a frame of fleshless bones. 

It was the first time the skeleton had spoken and 
Mr. Roseberry regarded it with greater astonishment 
than before. “He has had a long journey to-night: 
he came up from the centre of the earth, where his 
subjects, the dead, put coal in cider-presses and 
g-r-i-n-d out the ‘ ile.’ He ! he ! he ! ” the old woman 
explained, and she turned away with a derisive little 
laugh that “Or'gon” thought foreboded evil. He 
cast his eyes about for an open place in the bushes, 
that grew thick but a few feet from the water’s 
edge, into which he could slip and steal away; but 
at that moment the little man took him by the arm 
and led him to a flat space close to the tree by which 
the skeleton sat. Taking a crooked stick from the 
ground, Kerro drew a circle four or five feet in 
diameter on the flat space, and with his face toward the 
moon, which was now higher in the heavens, mut- 
tered some unintelligible sounds. Then he made a 
pass or two with the crooked stick over the face of 
the trembling man and stood him in the circle. 

“ The spade ! the spade ! ” called out the little man 
in his cracked voice. 

“ Three steps to the right — in the pool,” came from 
the snapping jaws of the skeleton. 

The little man took three steps to the right and 
advanced to the pool. He stooped, felt with his 


“ THE PLAY'S THE THING 149 

hand in the water and drew forth a spade, dripping, 
its blade mired over with clay to which adhered some 
black leaves. He laid it down by “ Or’gon ” in the 
circle. 

“ The pick-ax ! the pick-ax ! ” said Kerro. 

“ Three steps to the left — in the pool,” Bones an- 
swered again; and again the little man measured off 
the paces and drew from the water a pick-ax, which 
he placed in the circle, on the left. 

A change had come over the face of the little man 
as “ Or’gon ” saw it by the light of the moon. The 
jollity was gone and there was an expression of 
seriousness, of solemnity in the round features. 

“ My friend,” said Kerro, “ we are creatures who go 
about fulfilling the wishes of the truthful. We — my 
partner and I — come from roaming over the earth ; 
Bones comes from the region where certain of the 
departed labor for the good of the living. He gov- 
erns the fountains from which spring the oil so use- 
ful to man, and which it has been your desire to 
discover in your native soil. We have come to ful- 
fil this dream of yours. We do it because you have 
lived an upright life; because you are one from 
whose lips a falsehood never came. Look at those 
whose mouths have been full of foul lies — tales of 
things that never were nor never will be ! Them we 
punish. They do not deserve the wealth we give 
you, but a fate as terrible as their sins.” 

Although this speech was delivered as if it had 
been premeditated — as it had been — Mr. Roseberry 
did not notice that the language did not smack of 
antiquity as did the dress of the speaker. It sounded 
very modern, but still he did not grasp the situation. 


150 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

Aside from being frightened, lie was mystified, and 
could not see and interpret that which was incongru- 
ous to the situation. Neither could he determine 
how much was real. His mind, instead of being 
clear, as he had proudly thought it would be under 
such circumstances, was completely bewildered. The 
mysterious was too much for him, and, while vaguely 
doubting, he accepted the situation as without decep- 
tion. The words of the little man made him feel 
guilty. Was he truthful? He had never told those 
stories of his for the truth : he expected people to 
disbelieve them ; yet he knew that men called hkn a 
liar on account of them. Would these strange peo- 
ple count them against him for untruthfulness? 
Would they learn of his unfortunate habit? or could 
they read his mind? If either, what punishment 
could they inflict ? 

He was not given long to reflect, for after a mo- 
ment’s pause, Kerro continued : 

“For your truthfulness then, we reward you. 
Here is a charmed circle in which you must dig, 
night after night, under our guidance. If you dig, 
or even come to this spot without us, the charm will 
be broken. Down in the earth you will come to a 
stream of the purest oil, flowing in a current swift 
and strong. This shall be your reward. Face the 
moon, for she is our deity. Dig ! ” 

“ Or’gon ” seized the pick-ax and sank its sharp 
point into the earth all around the circle, and with 
the spade he threw up the loose dirt. His conscience 
burned, for he realized he was working for a reward 
which he did not deserve. He labored on for hours, 
it seemed, while Kerro paced nervously to and fro, 


THE PLAY'S THE THING 


151 


and the old woman and Bones talked wildly of the 
deeds of gnomes and hobgoblins. They scolded him 
if he stopped to rest; they whispered and laughed; 
the}’ worried him in a thousand ways, and even cen- 
sured him every minute for not digging faster. 

Suddenly Roseberry stopped and stood motionless. 
Then he brought a spade full of earth to his face and 
smelled it. The scent of oil that arose filled his 
brain with visions, visions of riches which a moment 
before he hardly dared hope for. He passed his hand 
over his brow and looked from one to another of the 
strange figures, wondering, after all, if this were 
reality or only a dream ; wondering if it were only a 
trap some gods or devils had set for his destruction ; 
but to his stupefied mind there did not once come the 
thought that it was a plot of human origin. 

How often has it been remarked that it is the un- 
expected that happens ! A rustling in the dried 
leaves drew the attention of all to the right, and 
standing there in a spot where the moonlight came 
down between the branches, her long hair falling 
down over her shoulders, stood Reba. 


152 


A CLOVER!) ALE SKELETON. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE UNFORESEEN. 

On this evening Reba felt no better than usual, 
and for a quiet hour she walked alone down the front 
walk and stood by the gate. On the long avenue a 
street lamp shone here and there, and over town the 
lights appeared shining through the windows of the 
houses. Reba wondered if in any of those homes 
there was a girl as thoroughly unhappy as she. She 
wondered if there were any greater source of unhap- 
piness than knowing a loved father to be an object 
of ridicule. It seemed cruel that people should single 
out the one fault of him she knew to be so good, so 
noble, and hold it up for public scorn and laughter. 

There was another thing which added to Reba’s 
trouble. She had freely confided in Bob, and had 
expected from him sympathy; but he had never 
mentioned what was spoken of in their conversation 
since the day it occurred. Her only confidant ignored 
what was to her an all absorbing grief, and it made 
her feel deserted and alone in a strange way that was 
new to her. Although Bob seemed to avoid her and 
never offered a word of the consolation that would 
have so comforted her, she daily thought of him, and 
her heart beat faster when she saw him approach 
For neglect she longed to give attention. She felt 
that a friend was slipping away from her; but she 
did not know what to do to retain him. This was a 


THE UNFORESEEN. 


153 


trouble which she did not understand ; and with it 
and the one she understood only too well she spent 
sleepless nights, a prey to bitter thoughts. In the 
mornings her eyes were heavy, she ate but little and 
was nervous to a high degree. She still lacked the 
courage to speak to her father about his share in her 
trouble, although he daily questioned her and threat- 
ened to bring the doctor again. If a suspicion that 
he was in any way responsible for her indisposition 
crossed his mind, he forcibly dismissed it and attrib- 
uted it to the weather or lack of exercise. Meanwhile 
Reba grew no better. 

The night air was cooling after the heat of the day 
and Reba stood there by the gate for an hour or 
more, when her father called her to go in. She 
went silently up to her room and sat by the 
window looking out at the stars. There is that in 
the night which affords solace to the desolate. The 
great heavens, silent and majestic, away from the 
things of earth, bring comfort to the heart that is 
alone. Many a woe has been confided to the stars : 
many an unfortunate has had no other confidants. 

Tired at last, Reba threw herself across the bed 
and dropped asleep. In her dreams she wandered 
through strange and dark places — alone. Then 
came a voice from some unknown depth saying: 
“ Who are you ? ” She awoke and sat upright and 
listened. The big clock in the hall, with slow and 
laborious strokes telling the hour, was the only sound 
she heard. She was chilly. The night had grown 
cold. She threw a shawl over her shoulders and 
stepped into the hall. That voice rang in her ears ; 
she was not quite sure that it was all a dream. No 


154 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

sound was heard down-stairs, so she felt her way 
down the dark stairway to the sitting-room. It was 
empty, the door was open. She went to her father’s 
room ; he was gone. 

With anxious steps Reba rushed out of doors, but 
knew not which way to go. She looked about, but 
saw nothing of her father. He sometimes sat on the 
porch, but it was deserted. She turned toward the 
grape arbor and paused by the seat under the big 
tree. The moon was shining and threw deep shadows 
of the trees around. Reba heard footsteps but could 
not see. A little form soon appeared and a voice 
said: 

“ Here I am again.” 

The boy stepped up to Reba and showed a bottle 
of “ lightning bugs.” 

“ See them Reba ? I caught them all myself and 
I’m going to keep them. See that one that has its 
light all spread out ! I mashed it with the stopper. 
Are you getting lightning bugs, Reba ? ” 

“ No ; but perhaps we will get some more after 
a while if you want to. How is it that you are out 
so late to-night, Stanley ? ” 

“ Why, I just like to be out nights : I come up here 
on the hill every night when it don’t rain, and run 
around in the woods and in the pasture. Sometimes 
I sit on this seat ; once I laid down there under the 
trees and watched you sitting up there by your 
window, looking out.” 

“ Does your father know it?” 

“ No ; he doesn’t care. I go out after he goes to 
bed.” 

“ Where’s the girl and your aunt ? ” 


THE UNFORESEEN. 


155 


“ Asleep,” said the boy in a whisper. 

“ And they don’t know you leave the house ? ” 
said Reba, sitting down on the bench and putting her 
hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“ They don’t care.” 

“ Have they ever seen you go out ? ” 

“ Papa did — once.” 

“ Didn’t he stop you ?” 

“ No ; he didn’t care. ” And the boy laughed. 

“ Poor boy ! ” said Reba. 

Stanley looked at the girl with a quiet wonder in 
his eyes; then his arms stole quickly around her 
neck and he kissed her impulsively. “ I love you, ” 
he said in the most matter-of-fact way, drawing back 
immediately. 

Reba was much surprised although she knew she 
had power over the boy. A blasphemous little luna- 
tic, always swearing at every one, upon whom kind 
words were often lost, showing such affection for her 
was very strange. She was just a little embarrassed 
and merely said, “ Tell me, then, have you seen my 
father ? ” 

The boy looked around nervously, as if something 
forgotten had returned to his mind, pressed closer to 
Reba and said timidly, “ I — I don’t know.” 

“ What is the matter Stanley ? Have you seen my 
father ? ” said Reba, taking him by the arm and 
looking him straight in the face. “ Answer me ! ” 

“ I think so,” said Stanley. 

“ Where did he go ? ” 

“ Over that way — pointing towards the woods 
pasture — “ some funny fellows were with him.” 

“ Who ? ” 


156 A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 

“ They had on big hats — one of them did. The 
other was a woman. There was another one, too; 
a — ” 

“ What? ” 

“ That thing that was in the closet.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” Reba asked, rising. 

“You know — that thing — all bones?” 

Reba knew, but remembered the boy had an un- 
sound mind. Nevertheless she was alarmed, and 
taking Stanley by the hand she walked rapidly in the 
direction he said he had seen her father go. They 
passed out the gate and went diagonally across the 
open pasture to the woods, where they wandered about 
a while, Reba calling her father faintly but hearing 
no response. They came near the pond and thinking 
that she heard voices Reba parted the bushes and 
stepped through. 

She was horrified by what she saw, yet she did not 
retreat. A score of strange sensations came over 
her, taking her strength away. She thought in a 
dreamy, indistinct way that she had misjudged her 
father — one story he told was certainly true for its 
characters were before her eyes. She stretched out 
her arms appealingly, then everything faded away. 

When Reba fell there by the side of the pool, the 
group around looked on a moment in surprise. Wib’s 
head appeared out of the hollow tree and Babe stood 
still behind Mr. Roseberry. Bob was the first to act. 
Running to Reba’s side he bent over her and tore 
the old hat from his head in the hope that she would 
recognize him. 

“ Reba, Reba,” he said in alarm, “ don’t be fright- 
ened; it’s only Bob.” 


THE UNFORESEEN. 


157 


He raised her head from the ground, and seeing 
how pallid and lifeless she looked in the moonlight, 
an awful dread came over him. He turned around 
and said as quietly as he could, “ Babe, go for a 
doctor. Wib and Uncle Roseberry, I guess we’ll 
have to carry Reba to the house.” Then he took 
the girl in his arms and staggered to his feet. Babe 
bolted off immediately through the woods, and Wib 
emerging from the tree and. giving the skeleton a wild 
toss, he cared not whither, ran to Babe’s assistance. 

Mr. Roseberry stood still, spade in hand, the very 
picture of stupidity. “ Babe, Bob, Wib, Becky,” 
he muttered, over and over. He did not understand. 
They were gone and their footsteps were no longer 
audible in the leaves. In the pool lay the skeleton ; 
one bony arm stuck upright for a moment in the 
mud and then sank through the scum. Mr. Rose- 
berry looked around in a helpless sort of a way, then 
at the hole he was digging. From it still came the 
odor of coal-oil. He saw something bright in the 
light of the moon, lying on the grass by the pit, and 
put out his hand towards it. It was a tin can and 
as he lifted it, coal-oil ran from a spout. He won- 
dered about it in the same stupid way ; but sudden- 
ly dropped it, and a feeling of intense shame came 
over him. 

Slowly he crept out of the hole and brushed the 
dirt from his clothing. He wondered what he should 
do and where he should go. His anxiety for Reba 
was great ; but his sense of shame was such that he 
felt that he could not go and face her and the boys. 
But his love triumphed and he set off for the house. 
He entered by a rear door and walked with a shame- 


158 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


faced expression on his face to the front hall. A 
light shone out of the parlor bedroom. Mr. Rose- 
berry looked in. Reba lay on the bed, and Bob, or 
rather the wrinkled old woman, bent over her bath- 
ing her forehead with cold water. 

Mr. Roseberry entered the room and stood help- 
lessly by the bed. Guilty Bob shrank away from 
him. The girl’s eyes opened and her father knelt 
beside her. She did not recognize him ; but looked 
about with a strange light in her eyes. He spoke to 
her and smoothed her damp hair back from her fore- 
head, but she seemed unconscious of the attention. 

Babe and the doctor arrived, closely followed by 
Wib and his mother. The doctor shook his head 
seriously when he saw Reba, and ordered the boys 
away. Mrs. Morgan put Reba to bed and the doctor 
did what he could for her. “ Good nursing is neces- 
sary in this case,” he said. “ It’s apt to be a bad 
case, and may go hard with one so young.” 

Seated in a large rocking-chair at the foot of the 
bed, the very picture of shame and guilt sat “ Or’gon ” 
Roseberry. A groan escaped him at the words of 
the physician, which, although spoken in a subdued 
tone, reached his ear. 

“ If Becky should die — ” was the thought that 
came crowding upon his mind against his will, and 
it tortured him. 

Upon the porch sat the boys. Babe and Bob had 
divested themselves of their disguises, and save a few 
streaks of black that remained on their melancholy 
faces, looked about as usual. Babe had been explain- 
ing what a difficult time he had had to get the doctor 
to come. “ He thought I was some crazy person, 


THE UNFORESEEN. 


ir> 9 

because I was dressed so. He stood in the door 
staring at me ; would hardly believe me when I told 
him who I was. I just had to beg before he would 
come. No wonder he thought I was crazy.” 

Bob sat on the bench and buried his face in his 
hands. The responsibility of the whole trouble, he 
thought, rested upon him, and him only. Leaving 
entirely out of account his good intentions, he looked 
upon himself as guilty of fatal carelessness. What 
consolation was it that he had a design in doing what 
he did if that design failed ? What kind of an exist- 
ence would he lead if Reba should die ? Bob had 
long been aware that she was unlike other girls, and 
his interest in her was different from that he felt for 
them. He thought he could live without any person 
under the sun but Reba. 

Mrs. Morgan came to the door and said : 

“ Bob, go over after your Aunt Deborah. Why 
haven’t you gone after her before ? Wake Sally up 
too.” 

Bob arose. “ They’re not here,” he said. “ I haven’t 
thought before, but I can bring them ? ” 

“ Where are they ? ” 

“ Out at Watsons. They went out this afternoon 
in our phaeton. I’ll get a horse and go after them.” 

A few minutes later Wib and Babe sat in the grass 
by the road where it went over the hill. They were 
mutely listening to the rapid strokes of a horse’s 
hoofs against the hard turnpike road. They grew 
fainter and fainter ; the echoes were heard a few 
seconds when the rider rode into Rocky Branch 
Hollow, then all was still, and the boys were alone 
with their own thoughts. 


160 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE VALLEY OF DRY BONES. 

The long hot summer days drifted by. There was 
no rain. The dust lay thick in the streets and every 
passing breeze blew it into the houses and up on the 
dry roofs. The cottonwood trees on the hill were 
shedding their leaves prematurely ; the maple-foliage 
too early turned to unhealthy red and yellow. In the 
fields little eddies in the air caught up the dried 
blades of the corn and whirled them aloft. The land 
was parched. 

Through it all lay the sick girl. Sometimes she 
talked. “ Take it away ! Take it away ! ” she would 
say. “ Then it was true — dear, dear father.” She 
seemed to pass again and again through the scene 
with those strange people she last saw with her father. 
She begged them not to injure him. She prayed him 
to forgive her for thinking his stories were untrue. 
“They were so strange, father; how could I believe 
until I saw? Now people shall not laugh at my 
father. His name shall not be ‘ Or’gon’.” 

Mr. Roseberry sat at the foot of the bed day after 
day and heard all this unconscious accusation. What 
shame and pangs of conscience he feltcannotbe told. 

There came a day when there seemed to be few 
reasons for hope. The wasted form and shattered 
nerves could hold out but little longer. If a change 
for the better did not come soon there would be an 


THE VALLEY OF DRY BONES. 161 

end. Aunt Deborah and Sally, assisted by the mothers 
of Wib and Babe had accomplished all that could 
be accomplished by careful nursing, and the doctors 
had done all their imperfect science had taught 
them ; but the disease was not such that it could be 
cured by medical art ; it was a disorder that had 
been a growth, and that growth must be complete 
before a change or the end could come. 

Each day the old pastor toiled up the hill with his 
cane. His step was feeble and his hair was white. 
Each day he took the old Bible down from the shelf 
and read a chapter, while the father, brother and 
friends sat around; then he prayed. On the day 
when it seemed that the frail life was nearly gone, 
he took the ponderous volume upon his knees, 
reverently turned the leaves for a moment, and 
stopped with his finger on a line. He looked around 
at the little group and said, “ Let us read a portion 
of the Word of God found in the thirty-seventh chap- 
ter of Ezekiel.” They listened as he read : — 

“ The hand of the Lord was upon me, and carried 
me out in the Spirit of the Lord, and set me down 
in the midst of the valley which was full of bones, 
and caused me to pass by them round about : and be- 
hold, there were very many in the open valley ; and, 
lo, they were very dry. And he said unto me, Son 
of Man, can these bones live ? And I answered, O 
Lord God, thou knowest. Again he said unto me, 
Prophesy upon these bones ; and say unto them, O ye 
dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus saith 
the Lord God unto these bones, Behold, I will cause 
breath to enter into you, and ye shall live : and I will 
lay sinews upon you, and will bring up flesh upon 


162 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


you, and cover you with skin, and put breath into you, 
and ye shall live ; and ye shall know that I am the 
Lord. So I prophesied as I was commanded : and as 
I prophesied, there was a noise, and behold a shaking, 
and the bones came together, bone to his bone. And 
when I beheld, lo, the sinews and flesh came up upon 
them, and the skin covered them above : but there was 
no breath in them. Then said he unto me, Prophesy 
unto the wind, prophesy, son of man, aud say to the 
wind, Thus saith the Lord God, Come from the four 
winds, O breath, and breathe upon these slain, that 
they may live. So I prophesied as he commanded 
me, and the breath came into them, and they lived, 
and stood upon their feet, an exceeding great army. 

Then he said to me, Son of man, these bones are 
the whole house of Israel : behold, they say, Our bones 
are dried, and our hope is lost ; we are cut off for 
our parts. Therefore prophesy, and say unto them, 
Thus saith the Lord God, Behold, O my people, I 
will open your graves, and cause you to come up out 
of your graves, and bring you into the land of Israel : 
and ye shall know that I am the Lord, when I have 
opened your graves, O my people, and brought you 
up out of your graves, and shall put my spirit in you 
and ye shall live, and I shall place you in your own 
land : then shall ye know that I the Lord have spoken 
it, and performed it, saith the Lord.” 

The pastor closed the book, laid it by him on a 
table, and said, “ Let us pray.” Kneeling there around 
the bed they listened to his prayer, and found sympa- 
thy in their hearts. 

“ Our Heavenly Father, from whom cometh every 
pious thought and every sense of duty, give us that 


THE VALLEY OF DRY BONES. 


163 


trust in Thy divine power that will help us to hear 
what Thy will ordains, although it be not what we 
desire. 

“ For many days have we besought Thee to spare 
the life which is held to this world by so slender a 
thread, but we greatly fear, O Lord, that it is Thy 
will that it be taken away ; and we would ask if such 
be Thy will, that this father and brother, and these 
relatives and friends be given grace to bear the sore 
affliction, and that they be resigned, feeling that what 
is in accordance with divine law is just. Thy ways 
are wrapped in mystery ; they are past finding out ; 
and we look forward to that blessed time when we 
shall see ‘ face to face,’ and not, as now, ‘ through a 
glass darkly.’ 

“But into whatever depth of grief these sorrowful 
ones may descend, let them never say 4 Our hope is 
lost.’ Let them never exclaim in despair, ‘She has 
gone — forever ’ ; but let them think of the promise 
given to Israel through the prophet Ezekiel, when in 
captivity her children moaned that their hope had 
departed, that their bones were dried ; for the prophet 
of the Lord prophesied of a time when the multitude 
of bones should be clothed with sinews and flesh, and 
have the breath of life, and that they should worship 
in His sanctuary ; and as he said, so it came to pass. 
And so, Lord, help these, thy servants, to have greater 
faith in Him who is the resurrection and the life ; let 
them look forward to the coming of the Son of God, 
when those who are judged worthy may be released 
from the captivity of the grave and worship with 
Him in that 4 temple not made with hands.’ There 
kindred souls shall meet, bound by more than earthly 


1G4 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


love ; and there shall be no more separations, which 
start our tears here upon earth. 

“Lord, we thank thee that the soul that now 
halts between two worlds, between Thy realm of 
spirit and ours of matter, is pure, and ready to enter 
Thy kingdom. We thank thee that in the heart of 
this girl was the feeling of charity for the humblest 
of Thy creatures, that she loved Thy children and 
her God. Teach us to lead lives as pure and simple 
as hers. Amen.” 

When the pastor had gone, Mr. Roseberry wan- 
dered away from the house. He had been confined 
closely within doors for several days and he felt the 
need of a breath of fresh air. It was late in the after- 
noon. The sun had gone down behind the woods, 
and the shade tempted him. He walked over the 
rolling pasture and entered that little bit of forest, at 
the northern end of which was a pool, and a hole 
dug. In the bitterness of his thoughts he would 
have visited them, but another spot which he had 
not visited for some time came into his mind, and he 
walked on through the woods to a place where there 
was a little stone-fenced graveyard. It was no more 
than twenty by thirty, and its walls were of the un- 
hewn stone of the hill sides. A rusty iron gate hung 
on dilapidated hinges between two stone posts, which 
had some show of ornament. In one corner of the 
wall was a limestone monument with an inscription. 
Within the walls the myrtle and wandering Jew 
covered the graves with a thick green bed, and there 
were wild roses and brier bushes growing here and 
there. 

Mr. Roseberry opened the gate a little on its rusty 


THE VALLEY OF HEY BONES. 


1G5 


hinges and entered. The tombstones were closely- 
set, some erect, some half sunken in the ground, and 
some fallen, but there was room for several more. 
He almost involuntarily pointed out with his finger a 
place for a new grave. It was between a sunken 
path and a mound, at the head of which was an orna- 
mented slab on which were cut these words : — 

MARGARET 

WIFE OF HEZEKIAH ROSEBERRY 

Below was an an inscription ; he had read it often, 
but he sat down by the mound to read it again : — 

Asleep in Jesus ! Blessed sleep, 

From which none ever wake to weep J 
A calm and undisturbed repose. 

Unbroken by the last of foes. 

Asleep in Jesus 1 O, for me 
May such a blissful refuge be ; 

Securely shall my ashes lie. 

Waiting the summons from on high. 

The Bible lesson and prayer of the pastor, and this 
inscription impressed Mr. Roseberry greatly. The 
last had been his wife’s favorite hymn when they 
used to go to church together on Sundays and 
sit with the little daughter between them, but he had 
not heard it many times since it was sung at Mar- 
garet’s funeral. He wondered why it was that he 
had drifted out from among the number who could 
wait without fear “ the summons from on high.” He 
reflected that he had grown cold toward the church, 
because it had refused to sanction a certain habit of 
his. At the time he said he did not care ; that he 


166 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


could live without the church. But when his eyes 
had been opened upon his fault, and he saw that on 
account of it his daughter’s life was in jeopardy and 
that his soul was unfit to meet hers and her mother’s 
on the resurrection morn, there came into his heart a 
deep regret that his sins had led him astray. The 
gratification of inventing unprofitable tales was a 
poor pay for the loss which he saw imminent. It 
was a small thing— this fault of his — nothing heinous 
nor villainous; but he realized now that a small 
thing could sometimes produce terrible results. 
There was a verse near the end of that chapter the 
pastor had read, which M r. Roseberry thought fitted 
his case ; for in the days gone by there had been fam- 
ily worship in his home and the Bible had been regu- 
larly studied. He repeated the verse : — “ Neither 
shall they defile themselves any more with their 
idols, nor with their detestable things, nor with any 
of their transgressions : but I will save them out of 
all their dwelling-places, wherein they have sinned, 
and will cleanse them : so shall they be my people, 
and I shall be their God.” He had defiled himself 
with an idol ; and such an unprofitable, silly idol that 
he remembered it with shame. Lying there on the 
ground, resting his arm on the mound above all that 
was mortal of his wife, scraping with his finger the 
moss that had gathered in the letters cut in her 
grave stone, he wondered how he could ever have 
been so weak, so blind, as to cause his family morti- 
fication and to estrange himself from his God, for — 
nothing — worse than nothing ! And yet he had done 
it ; and now knew not what moment a result of it — 
this scheme that had miscarried — would cause a new 


THE VALLEY OF DRY BONES. 


167 


grave to be made in the little family burying ground. 
The thought did not startle him: it had been in his 
mind constantly for weeks until his brain ached. His 
body was weary too, for he had had but little repose 
during the last few days; so he fell asleep. 

But sleep did not free him from his trouble. Hav- 
ing a mind accustomed to making fancies both serious 
and ludicrous of every day affairs, one which teemed 
with dreams, there naturally came into it in his slum- 
ber a confusion of the thoughts of the day. He seem- 
ed to stand at the side of a valley over which, from 
mountain top to mountain top, hung dismal clouds. 
Stretching from his feet out over the valley, filling 
the hollows and a river’s bed, were bones dry hu- 

man bones, lying disconnected in confused masses. 
As he looked a human frame arose from the mass 
and came toward him, clothed in a mantle. When 
it came near a voice said, “Son of man, can these 
bones live ? ” But the jaws only snapped and could 
not answer. The arm stretched out over the valley 
as if to bid the bones arise, but they did not stir. 
Then again spake the voice and said, “ They have 
defiled themselves with their idols, and they continue 
in their transgressions ; and they are not my people, 
they are dead.” 

“ Hezekiah, Hezekiah,” said a voice, and the dream- 
er thought he fell upon his knees, but a movement 
he made awoke him. Near by stood Deborah, precise 
and severe, her hands crossed before her. Mr. Rose- 
berry felt that she had unwelcome news and he bowed 
his head to receive it. 

“Hezekiah,” she repeated, “the Lord hath dealt 
mercifully with thee. Rebecca is better.” 


168 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

ODDS AND ENDS. 

Strange that few plans turn out according to ex- 
pectations. Something is always left out of the cal- 
culations ; something unexpected is bound to occur. 
But if in the end a good result is reached without 
positive disaster, the efforts are well spent, even 
though some one has to suffer for a time. 

After Reba’s recovery Mr. Roseberry was a differ- 
ent man. Bob had freely confessed all that had been 
done and took the blame upon himself. In the light 
of all that had happened, the rebukes on Skeete’s 
Hill seemed clearer to Mr. Roseberry; he took a sen- 
sible view of the whole situation and made a lasting 
resolve. It only remained to tell his daughter the 
whole story and be forgiven for all the past. Bob 
was selected as spokesman for his two friends and 
Mr. Roseberry, and one night he told Reba all in the 
presence of those concerned. Reba’s pale face was 
radiant with a new light and she said she was glad 
she had suffered, for it had not been in vain. The 
idol that had defiled her father had been cast away, 
and he himself had departed from his transgression. 

So there is one less skeleton in Cloverdale. No 
doubt there are plenty left but they are hidden away 
in dark closets, and Cloverdale is none the less pleas- 


ODDS AND ENDS. 


169 


ant on their account. The loafers no longer loiter 
around Todd’s store. Snapp passes by in peace, for 
his theft of the turkey has been forgotten. 

Babe and Wib are preparing to enter their chosen 
professions. Little Joe is at the age which finds 
more amusement in mischief than in anything else. 

Stanley Griggs is the same. Reba and Bob are 

happy, with the prospect of even greater happiness. 

As for Bones, he caused a sensation of no small 
degree. When the winter came and the ice formed 
over his boney pate, some boys were one day skating 
on the little pool. One of them broke through and 
lost a skate. In searching for it in the black water 
he drew up a skull and an arm bone. In an hour or 
two all Cloverdale was shocked with the report that 
the skeleton of a murdered man had been found in 
Roseberry’s Pond. Soon the pompous coroner with 
his important jury were on the spot, surrounded by 
a great crowd of the curious. But when there was 
drawn forth from the pool a skeleton whose bones 
were held together by hinges and wires of brass, 
and when Professor Mullins claimed it as the prop- 
erty of the Medical College, explaining that it had 
been stolen months before, a very audible titter ran 
around the pool to the great chagrin of the important 
official who had hoped to gain a fee. The crowd was 
curious as to how the skeleton came to its watery bed. 
There were three young fellows there who knew, but 
they made it a point to be very silent about it. 

“ Or’gon” Roseberry is little more than a memory, 
but Mr. Roseberry is a living reality. Certain very 
wise persons pretend to know what caused the sud- 
den change in him, but they are quite ignorant in re- 


170 


A CLOVERDALE SKELETON. 


gard to it, and, moreover, they always will be, for 
Reba, Bob, Babe, Wib and Mr. Roseberry himself are 
the only ones who know all the facts in the case, and 
they declare they’ll never, never tell. 


THE END. 









